Second Chances
by Angelpheonixwings14
Summary: Not your typical Destiel fic. Very AU, and yet more Canon than you'd think! 300 years in the future, where supernatural creatures rule the night and day, a man named Dean is sold into slavery to a vampire clan known as the Angels. But not everything is as it seems in the dark, and there's more to the story than what the future holds.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Yeah, so this is definitely not your typical Destiel fic. Just keep that in mind. The idea came to me on a whim, so I'm going to go through with it, cause the last story I did (and am still doing) on a whim turned out more awesome than I expected. Only with this one, I already have a vague plot in mind that will be unraveling slowly, so if you stick with this story past this chapter, I promise you your mind will be blown ;)**

**Unfortunately, I don't own Supernatural or the characters (though GOD I wish I did). All that is mine is the original story and the original characters. Regardless of this, I hope you enjoy!**

Things had changed in 300 years, not that Dean knew what they were like so many years ago. Apparently, humans had run the show back then, but then the war happened. _The _Apocalypse. Many people died, almost all, and America had been crippled. It broke up into smaller countries; at the same time, the supernatural marked the weakness in humanity, and came out of hiding. The Devil ran the show, and under him evil thrived. Now, each state country was ruled by the supernatural. Dean couldn't say how the rest of the world was fairing, because America didn't have any explicit contact with other countries anymore, not through human affairs, anyway.

It may have been the future, but many places had been chucked back in time from the depression. Dean lived as paupers used to, while the supernatural rolled around in blood and gold. Dean grew up in an orphanage; he never knew his real family, or his last name. He didn't mind it though, his sad story _or _his living conditions, because he was still free to do as he pleased, unlike so many others. A clan of fairies known as the Madeline family ruled their country state. For the most part, the Fae kept to themselves and let their human cattle roam free. Only every fifty years did they take the newly born first born sons for payment. Dean had luckily missed that year.

Unfortunately, not all supernatural clans got along; most of them fought, actually. There were petty territory wars, or xenophobic battles. Some managed to remain civil, trading goods and humans to keep treaties honorable. The Madelines had an agreement with the vampires, whom were aligned against the werewolves and the shape-shifters. Demons sided with no one, running rampant against anyone with their lessers, the Croats, while witches stayed away from any affairs of others, having their own separate cult. It was tiring, and Dean had no patience for it, so he chose to remain as oblivious as possible to it.

That changed on his 26th birthday when his village caught an illness. Many were dead within the week, despite their begging for the Fae lords to help them. The pleas were unheard, and it was only another 6 months before local businesses began to plummet into shambles, including Dean's own. He fed much of the population through hunting, as well as the Madeline family, but with no population to feed, his services became obsolete. The Fae had other means of food, so when the results began to dwindle, the Madeline family took a different approach.

"You can't do this!" Dean shouted at them. The fairies weren't impressed, nor were they surprised by the man's outburst. His temperament was well known, and promptly ignored, to Dean's unmarked relief. Many supernatural families would do worse punishment for less, so he really lucked out on his rulers. Or _had_, until today.

"We can, and we will, Dean. As you are not bringing in enough revenue, we will profit on you another way," the king said smoothly, his fair features undisturbed by time or emotion.

"But you can't sell me to them," Dean whined, protests feeble and losing their heat, because he knew nothing he could say would change their mind. "No! I won't let you!" Dean snapped, causing the rulers to stare at him in annoyance. Dean knew he was pushing his luck with anger, so he tried a different approach. He stepped forward, before sinking to his knees before them. "Please, don't do this to me," he begged, though he glared up at them with determination and without fear.

"I am sorry, Dean. The deal had already been made. The caravan leaves in an hour; make your peace and gather your belongings," he said, waving his hand to the human. Dean rose, and bowed his head, knowing there was nothing he could do, and nothing left to be said.

"Thank you," he said somberly, before he turned and left. Despite the bitter taste in his mouth, he was grateful he had been under the Madelines' rule for so long. But now, everything was going to change. Dean fought back a grimace as his throat tightened, knowing _he had it good here_, but was no longer a part of this system. He shook the thoughts away quickly as he hopped onto his horse tied up outside the Madeline Mansion.

He was quiet when they reached his humble little shack. It was old and run down, but homey and perfect for his bare living style. Everyone in their community shared, bartering for goods and services, and never holding a grudge. They did as they pleased, which was more than could be said for other country states. It was hard to think this was going to change for Dean, and a deep sadness had overtaken him. Dean nearly choked on his breath when he realized this was likely the last time he would be here. He tied his horse up on a fence outside, and pat his trusty steed a few times on it's thick neck before he disappeared inside.

He skimmed his fingers over his room with reverent nostalgia, remembering all the books he had read on his soft bed. The girl he lost his virginity to at the age of 16, (he had learned to be useful quickly and left the orphanage at 13, making himself his own home and means of work). He swallowed heavily, before he packed up what meager belongings he had. The clothes he owned, his favorite pocketknife, and two of his favorite books. For a moment, he reached up and twirled the golden amulet hanging around his neck as he scanned the room one more time. He remembered the day he found it, buried in the dirt and long forgotten. For some reason, it had moved him at first sight, so he polished it clean and never took it off.

The goodbye was bittersweet, but he couldn't bear to be there any longer. He shouldered his pack, and hopped on his horse to make his last ride to the mansion.

His horse was taken from him when he reached the Madeline Mansion again, another "donation" of his services. There were thirty humans altogether, waiting to take their place on the caravan that was heading up toward South Dakota. The driver ushered all the humans into the caravan, before taking his place at the helm. It was a small three car train, operated by old steam engines left behind after the war destroyed most new age technology. New tracks had been created since that time, connecting the new country states together; many were broken during battles, but between allies, they were kept pristine.

It only took a day to reach their destination, and Dean felt dread wash through him when it was announced they'd be at Angel Fall within the hour. He had been sold to the vampires, a family known as the Angels that ruled a large portion of the northwestern part of the country. Dean hadn't heard much about them, but the family was brutal to their enemies, and certainly didn't allow their humans the freedoms the Fae put up with. He closed his eyes, and tried not to think about his new label the best he could…until the train finally came to a screechy stop.

They were ushered off in a slow, orderly fashion, and Dean teetered from foot to foot as he waddled toward the establishment. It was enormous, and lavish in a way the Madeline Mansion was not. Where his old rulers had majesty and elegance, this place had grace and malice. An old style castle had been built for the Angels, but with more modern features in the windows and structure. It was ominous in the dark, all sheen and black rock with sharp towers that looked like the edges of a foreboding crown, reaching into the sky high enough that Dean's neck hurt from craning it back so far. A beat of fear rattled his heart as he drew closer to the enormous oak doors that were held open for them by winged beasts that looked like bats. Dean only knew how to refer to them as gargoyles.

The light that passed over them when they entered was surprisingly blinding; by the outside, he would have assumed cold steel and grey lights, but it was quite the opposite. The light surrounding them was warm and golden, reflecting off the similarly colored walls that were decorated with deep colors of red, green, and blue. There was blush carpet beneath them, and breathtaking chandeliers above them, and this was only the opening parlor! Dean found himself in awe, gulping at the impressive majesty of the place.

They were led into a throne room, and the driver urged them to file into a single horizontal line through gruff curses and muttered annoyances. It almost made Dean smirk, because the man's grisly attitude reminded him of himself, were he fifty years older and less sarcastic. When they were all settled, the man left them without any instruction. The wait was agonizing, and many people grew restless enough to start chattering amongst themselves in hushed tones. Dean took the time to look at the faces surrounding him.

Many, he didn't recognize, which meant they likely weren't from his village. The Madelines ruled four of the old states surrounding Kansas, more to the south of the Angels' territory. Only three, did he recognize. The Viola sisters, two bitches he'd tangled with a long time ago, and to this day, still regretted. And Kevin Tran, an awkward teenager whom he instantly felt bad for, being stripped from a home that couldn't afford to put dinner on the table, let alone pay their lords any taxes.

It was just after he took in these faces that iron doors to their left swung open with a frightening moan. Silence fell over them heavier than humid summer heat, and the human faces turned to look at those who walked through. No one could blame them for being curious; they had never seen any vampires before. The first to walk through was a tall man with short blonde hair and mischievous eyes, with an equally cocky smirk. The clothes he wore matched his attitude, spiffy, expensive, and sleek. Behind him was another male with black skin, a little taller in stature, and a bit broader too. He was dressed in a less offensive suit, but his scowling face was far more sinister.

Following after were two girls walking hand in hand, both relatively the same height but one with dark brown hair, the other light blonde curls. They were grinning to each other, giggling over a shared joke as their brown eyes sparked with bemusement. Both wore matching styled gowns, though one was in white while the other a colorful salmon. Two more males followed just behind them, one shorter than all the rest, with chocolate hair and a lollipop stick sticking out his mouth. He had hazel eyes, and casual clothes on that suggested he'd just rolled out of bed.

And finally, another male with black hair more unruly than any bed hair Dean had ever seen. He, too, looked like he had just rolled out of bed, the longer locks sticking up haphazardly in a way that reminded Dean of a romp in the sack. His eyes were ice blue in this bright light, and too piercing for any gaze to linger on. Pale skin and taut muscles were hidden beneath black slacks and an opened white button down shirt. They were rolled up at the sleeves, and the white T-shirt he wore underneath was poking out from the opened top of the dress shirt. He was shorted than the first two, and skinnier than them too, but something about this one screamed more power than his form confessed.

Once the family lined up on the stairs, they stopped and faced their new humans. For a moment, all was silent, before the first one stepped forward with a charming smile on his face. "Welcome to Angel Fall. This will be your new home, as I gather you have all come to terms with. You have been sold to us, for us to do with as we so choose, so please, make it easy on all of us, and do as you are told. Unlike your previous owners, we are not so lenient in our affairs," he spoke, voice soft, almost kind, but hinting toward a shorter fuse than he let on. It was interesting to note he had a rowdy accent, but from where, Dean could not tell.

"Now then, with that out of the way, let me introduce my family. I am Balthazar, and these are my siblings, Raphael, Naomi, Hester, Gabriel, and Castiel," the vampire read off, pointing from one sibling to the next from who stood the closest to him, to the last. Smiling brightly at his family, Balthazar slowly turned around to glare heavily at the humans. Some took the hint and lowered their eyes, while others still stared, blinking in awe, confusion, or fear. Balthazar smiled a little wider, before he took a grandiose step backward and twisted around to hold his hand out for his sisters. Ever the gentleman, he guided them down to take first pick, to Raphael's utter annoyance.

The woman walked down, hand in hand, before they parted at the line of slaves. Dean watched curiously as the smaller one named Hester picked out four females, including one of the Viola sisters. She tapped each on the shoulder, before bidding them to follow her, and the posse disappeared out the door the vampires had entered through. Naomi picked out three men, before her eyes landed on Dean. He felt heat push into his cheeks as her eyes flickered up and down his body, her eyes pensive as if she were heavily considering taking him. But at the last moment, she changed her mind and chose a female instead. Dean puffed out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when that scrutinizing stare had left him.

Balthazar came down next, and to his horror, Dean was the first he picked. His heart hammered in his chest as he stepped out of line, waiting awkwardly as Balthazar also picked out four more humans. When the vampire walked off, Dean followed the new harem, looking from side to side as he passed by.

The last thing he saw before he left the foyer was a pair of fierce blue eyes burning into his skull. Balthazar led them through the corridors for what seemed like ages to Dean, before they finally reached their destination. It was a wing of the castle that Dean quickly realized belonged solely to Balthazar. _'Do all the Angels have their own wings,'_ he wondered curiously as Balthazar stopped to face them.

"The five of you will be joining the rest of my slaves in a moment, but I wanted to go over your purpose in this household. Some of you will become a part of my blood bank, which as I can assume you gather, is my food supply. Others will be put to work tending to my needs, such as maintaining my wing of the castle, preparing my meals, and tending my affairs. Your specific duties will be assigned by my personal assistant. If you will file into this room here, he will sort through you all and assign you your appropriate duties," Balthazar explained, before he held an arm out to gesture the humans toward a door. They all filed in just after the said assistant walked out.

"Balthazar," a rough voice suddenly cut through the hallway, causing Balthazar to turn away from his assistant before he could even get a word out. A sleazy smile graced his lips as he watched Castiel approach him.

"Ah, little brother, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he cooed, clapping his hands together quietly in a joyous way. They both already knew what Castiel wanted.

"Give him to me," was all Castiel said in response. It wasn't a request; it was a harsh demand. Balthazar's smile turned sly in response.

"You know they all saw him, don't you? I'd be willing to bet they all recognized him, too. Naomi was seconds away from taking him, didn't you see?" he taunted, and his eyes were unreadable when the flash of woe slipped through Castiel's gaze.

"Please," Castiel practically begged, his harsh voice going uncharacteristically soft. "I'll do anything."

"I know," Balthazar said, before his hands let go of one another to clasp onto Castiel's shoulders. He smiled wider, and leaned into his brother's ear to whisper, "why do you think I scooped him up for you before Raphael or Gabriel could get the jump on him?" He leaned away from his brother and crossed his arms, bringing a single hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully as he smirked. Castiel looked like a wounded puppy, if he'd ever seen one, and it was absolutely adorable in how pathetic it was.

"I'll give him to you," he finally said, because after all, the two of them were very old friends. Castiel's eyes rose with a lively glint, hope bleeding through his stoic face, and Balthazar held out a finger to silence him. "Just remember you owe me. I'll have my assistant bring him to your room, if that will be all?" Castiel nodded to his brother in response, and Balthazar waved him away with a flick of his hand.

The slaves turned their heads when the door opened and their master's head poked through. "Dean?" he called, and the man in question immediately perked up. His brows furrowed in severe confusions as he straightened up and stood. _'When the Hell did he get my name?'_ Dean thought as Balthazar smirked devilishly. It wasn't so farfetched to think there had been a roster of names given with the slaves, but that didn't explain how the vampire had put his face to his name.

"Well I'll be damned," Balthazar mused, before he waved his hand for Dean to approach. Cautiously, Dean did as he was told and followed to the beckon until he was out the door again, standing in the hallway. To his surprise, Balthazar clapped a hand against his back, and said, "Welcome back."

"Excuse me?" Dean said, voice full of bewilderment and agitation, but Balthazar only smiled lazily at him and shoved him forward. With a grunt, he stumbled into the stabilizing hand of the assistant, whom immediately veered him down the hall. "What's happening?" Dean snapped at the shorter bald man.

"Be quiet, and lose the attitude," the man hissed, not letting go of Dean as they stormed through the hallways. "Castiel is temperamental, and you don't want to get on his bad side."

"Castiel? But I thought-"

"You've been traded." A lump formed in Dean's throat at the words. _'You've been traded.'_ Suddenly, those burning blue eyes came back to his mind. His stomach twisted into knots, and he couldn't quite understand why. Why?! Why had he been traded? It was bad enough that he had been sold in the first place, but now he was being swapped through his masters?! He wasn't a fucking piece of meat!

But all too quickly, they had veered into another wing, and Dean was herded to the very end of the hall, before a door was opened and he was shoved in. The other man didn't even enter with him; he simply slammed the door shut, leaving Dean to stumble for his balance. When he finally managed to pull himself upright, the other lone occupant of the room twisted around to face him. Tension was thick in the air, stifling enough to make all of Dean's muscles seize. The look the other was giving him was surreal; more intense than any other he had ever seen, as if Castiel could easily pierce through his soul with the color of his eye.

"Son of a bitch," Castiel whispered in awe. Feeling highly uncomfortable at the reverent way the other was looking at him, Dean bit his bottom lip and fidgeted slightly where he stood.

"Hey, that's my line," he quipped, desperate for a way to break the tension. To his surprise, his new master laughed, but it was bitter and broken in surprised disbelief. The smile that accompanied it looked to be a mix of happiness and sorrow, which confused Dean to no end. With a start, Dean jerked back when Castiel was suddenly standing in front of him, breaching his personal space like he owned it (which Dean guessed, he actually did). The human fell into the wall, but Castiel pressed forward to keep the distant constant, which was only a few inches of space.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"It's you. I can't believe it's really you," Castiel whispered again, and before Dean knew it, the space between them was closed. Castiel pressed forward, hands gripping to Dean's face, and his lips crashed into Dean's with more fervor than Dean had ever experienced. A startled noise left him, body tensing even more as he froze in the vampire's grasp. Finally, his brain caught up and his hands came up to plant against Castiel's chest, but the first shove did nothing to relieve the pressure on his face. The smaller man really _was _strong, and Dean grunted in frustration when he tried again. This time, he used the wall as leverage, and managed to shove Castiel off of him using all of his mite.

"What the fuck?!" Dean spat, wiping his mouth of the heated kiss. He could swear Castiel looked hurt, but the moment passed so quickly, he very well may have imagined it. "You don't just go around kissing dudes," he snapped, and instantly, Castiel turned vicious. Before Dean could react, the vampire's leg snaked around his own and brutally kicked his knee out. It forced Dean to his knees at the same moment that Castiel's unforgiving hand came to grasp around the side of Dean's neck with a vicious grip, fingers digging into Dean's jugular painfully. It made the human wince heavily, and instantly go from angry to afraid.

"You forget, _Dean_. You're my slave. I can do with you as I please, and the years have made me cruel," the Angel snarled. His head tilted slightly as he watched Dean try not to whine at the pressure, and a sick satisfaction came to him at the thought of the bruises that would be visible in due time. That's when Castiel's eyes flickered lower on Dean, and he caught a glimpse of the necklace hanging around Dean's neck. The pressure from his other hand stalled as his free one came up to curl a few fingers around the unique golden charm.

"Where did you get this?" Castiel asked quietly, and Dean opened his eyes. Once again, he was surprised to see the turmoil swelling into those fierce blue orbs.

"I found it," he breathed, voice slightly hoarse from the pain coating his throat. Castiel released him, at the same time that he yanked Dean's necklace off.

After coughing a moment, Dean glowered up at his master and shouted an outraged, "_Hey!" _ Castiel ignored him, turning away from his new pet as he stared at the amulet, running a thumb over the smooth gold. The vampire didn't know whether to break down and cry, throw a rage fit, laugh to the heavens, or do a combination of all three. _'The universe is so very cruel, _he thought, _'Father, why do you do this to me?'_

Was it a sign? Or was it just another curse? Slowly, he turned back around to face Dean. Smartly, the human was still kneeling where he had been left, heaving for air in anger and pain as he glared at Castiel with hate in his eyes. It was a cruel joke to have him like this now, but Castiel didn't have much of a heart left to care. Or so he thought.

"You don't remember anything?" Castiel asked somberly. Dean's brows furrowed in suspicion, and with a huff, he dared to push himself up from the floor. Castiel didn't seem to mind, so Dean stood to his full height, fists clenched at his sides.

"Remember what?" he snapped gruffly. Castiel considered him for a long moment, before his eyes dropped down to the necklace he was still stroking between his fingertips. He grew tired of it then, and curled the necklace up, before he dropped it onto the black end table next to his king-sized beg. His stomach was gurgling, begging to be fed, and he wanted nothing more than to taste what he had yearned for, for so many years.

Dean felt the atmosphere in the room shift again as Castiel slowly moved around the edge of his dark-blue sheeted bed. He suddenly felt like a lamb caught by a wolf, and instinctually, he sidestepped a few times. A glint sparked in Castiel's eyes, a predatory one that sent a chill straight through Dean's spine. Within moments, Castiel lunged and Dean lurched away from him, trying to get away in the absurdly spacious room. But Castiel was too quick, and snapped an arm around one of Dean's shoulders. His fingers curled around the front of Dean's neck, pressing into the man's clavicle bones. With his other hand, he gripped around Dean's hip, and ran both of them into the bed.

With a gasp and a grunt, Dean found himself pinned against the bed face down, torso glued to it while his feet still remained planted on the floor. Heat rose to his cheeks at the embarrassing position, and only brightened at the feral groan that left his master's lips. Though he tried to struggle free, the weight above him was too strong as Castiel shifted his hold. The hand against Dean's hip slid up and under the human, pressing into his stomach as the other curled around his shoulder. Dean fought not to shiver as he felt fingers card into his hair, massaging his scalp in a too tender way for what was happening to him.

But all of a sudden, that gentle grip turned harsh, and Dean couldn't hold back the yowl as his hair was fisted brutally in the other's hand, before he felt it yank upward. Combined with the gentle push into his stomach, Dean was forced to arch his back backward and expose his neck as his head was pulled to the side. He couldn't see, but Castiel's second set of teeth had descended, razor sharp, jagged rows of fangs aching for his flesh.

In a snapping motion, Castiel thrust his face down and sunk his teeth into Dean's pulsing neck. His body curved gently over Dean, poised like a stretching cat as it shuddered slightly when sweet, sweet blood pooled into his mouth. His eyes rolled into the back of his head at how delicious Dean tasted, and he paid no mind to the sharp scream of the other man as he drank his greedy fill. Dean's cry quickly died down to a softer mewling as Castiel slowed his intake. Indulgently, Castiel let his hand trail across Dean's flat stomach, teasing the muscles beneath his thin shirt. The whimper the man let out in response made Castiel's groin twitch with anticipation, but his fingers stopped their roaming when he felt Dean couldn't take anymore loss.

His fangs retracted, a breath heaving from him as he took a moment to savor the final drops. A growl left him as he looked down at his slave; Dean was trying to twist his face the best he could, eyes clamped shut in fear and disgust at what was happening to him. It made Castiel's growl deepen as his eyes flashed white, and he leaned into Dean's neck once again to lap up the remnants of Dean's blood with a sinful tongue. He felt Dean squirm in his firm grip, perturbed by the feeling of Castiel's wet tongue gliding over his raw skin. When the wounded flesh was fully cleaned, Castiel stopped and released Dean, letting the human ungracefully sink back onto the bed, spent of his energy.

Castiel licked his lips clean as Dean sunk to his knees, and his eyes lingered on the sight of Dean kneeling over his bed for a moment, before he left to enter his bathroom. When he came back, he was carrying a small kit with him, and Dean still hadn't moved. His eyes were closed, as if he were trying to pretend he was anywhere but here. That sent a painful throb through Castiel's heart, but he ignored it as he looked down at the kit and opened it. He pulled out a thick piece of gauze, and pressed it to Dean's wound, before he taped it down with some surgical tape. Once he placed the kit down on an identical end table at this side of the bed, Castiel wrapped his strong arms around Dean's weakened body and lifted him up with ease.

A gentleness he had not had before came forth as he placed Dean to lie comfortably on the bed, and he slowly slipped his arms away from Dean as if he were afraid to let go. Dean didn't protest or complain this time, for he was too weak to put up a fight. His brain had grown dizzy, then foggy with how much blood had been taken from him, and all he wanted to do now was sleep. His breathing was already heavy, heart pumping thickly to keep what was left in him going strongly through his system.

"I hate you," Dean whispered weakly before he fell unconscious, and Castiel felt his nonexistent heart break. _'I'm sorry Dean,'_ he thought bleakly, _'But you did this to me first.'_

**AN: Confused? Good. You should be. If anyone can guess what might be going on in this fic already, I'll give you 1000 points and a chapter dedicated to you. Otherwise, buckle up because the meaning behind all the confusing foreshadowing in this first chapter will come to light soon enough. And if any of you are reading Wall of Passion by any chance, don't worry I'm still working on it. I just really wanted to work on this too! SO, please review if you can. It would make my day and help me improve on certain things. Thanks! Toodles for now :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Wow! So much love guys. Thank you all so much for reviewing, favoriting, and following! It totally made my weekend and made me want to get this next chapter up super fast, so pat yourselves on the back for turning my motivation on crack!mode :D Mistofstars, to answer your question, no I have not seen the 10th kingdom, but I do know about Interview With a Vampire. Your review made me blush a lot btw ;) And I'll be sending you a DocX message soon with your revisions; I just couldn't stop writing for this story today! So I really hope you all enjoy this chapter. Things will slowly start to unravel and clear up. I know I dropped quite a few hints in this chapter; I just hope it wasn't too many! Anyway, enough of my rambling. Here you go:**

Castiel couldn't take his eyes off of Dean as he slept. He stood rigidly at the side of the bed, simply staring. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. For centuries, he had been convinced he'd live out the rest of his days in endless misery. And now this. The hope he felt over the chance turn of events was almost worth the turmoil it put him through. All the long lost memories coming back to him were drowning him, but he couldn't help but think that this was meant to be. That maybe his Father was still around and looking out for them, giving them a chance to fix it all, because this was too much of a coincidence to be anything else.

After a while, a knock quietly rapped on the door to his bedroom. His head twisted sharply to glare at the intrusion, but he silently approached his door and opened it. His elder sister, Naomi, was standing outside, still wearing her pearly dress. Castiel scowled deeply, and abruptly stepped outside his room, causing Naomi to shuffle back a few feet to make way from him. The door clicked shut behind him, and Castiel kept a firm hand wrapped around the doorknob, just for good measure.

"What do you want, Naomi," Castiel growled. Naomi bowed her head slightly from Castiel's anger, but when she spoke, her voice was even and commanding.

"The boy, Castiel. You know who he is. He let out brother be killed with his stubborn ignorance. He deserves to be-" Naomi's sharp words were cut off by a feral roar. In a heartbeat, Castiel's anger had magnified to immeasurable heights, his fangs descending from his gums to bare a frightening snarl in his sister's face. She flinched horribly, scampering backward into the opposite wall as her brother threateningly stalked toward her. His hand snapped up, fingers clamping down around her throat in a clear display of dominance, and with a jerk of his wrist, he snapped her chin up so he could glare into her eyes.

"Don't touch him, Naomi. You know what I'll do to you if you do. We both know that's why you didn't choose him when you had the chance. If a hair goes missing on his head…if any of you even go _near_ him, I will end you all," Castiel snarled, his gravely voice low and dangerous as he purred his harsh words in her ear. She shuddered a little, before he released her to gather what was left of her pride. Things had changed from the old ways; their old order, the old hierarchy and levels of power were obsolete. In this form, Castiel was the strongest, was the most angry and feared. His entire family knew it, and they didn't cross him because of it. Only Balthazar dared to test him because of their long-standing, secure relationship.

Still, his sister scowled and pushed herself off the wall; she sidestepped, stalking away from her brother while keeping a hateful glare on him. "You're a traitor to our kind, Castiel. Always have been. And if we ever go back, I will personally strip your wings," she snapped, but they were just venomous words. Castiel's vivid blue eyes glared at her as she turned and fled his hall. Before tonight, he would of never thought it possible to go home. But now…. He twisted slowly to cast a pensive gaze against his door.

His fangs retracted once his sister was gone, and he returned to his room before locking the door. He didn't do much but watch Dean sleep, just like he used to. It was bittersweet, nostalgic in a way that made his throat thick with pain. He never thought he'd get a chance again, and a grim smile graced his pink lips when he remembered what Dean would say. _'It's just creepy, Cas.' _He never knew what it meant, but now he did and he didn't care. It had always been one of his favorite things to do, and now he realized it still was. He could almost cry that he got to do it again.

By the time morning came, Castiel had crawled onto the bed, and lied on his side. He snuggled into Dean's side, just as he once had in a nightmarish dream a long time ago, and draped a pale arm over the thicker man's torso. It wasn't long before Castiel fell into a more peaceful sleep than he had experienced in generations. And not long after, Dean stirred out of his coma. His fuzzy brain registered weight against his side, and across his navel. Sleepy eyes trailed across the bare arm splayed over him to its owner, the slumbering vampire snuggled into him like he belonged there.

What was even weirder was that initially, Dean didn't mind. He, dare he say it, actually felt _safe_ in the monster's arm. And that disturbed him more than anything else. Squirming slightly, he kept a wary eye on Castiel's peaceful form as he gingerly moved the man's arm off him. He froze in fear when Castiel stirred slightly, mumbling under his breath as he turned onto his back. Though Dean's heart had leapt into his throat, he relaxed slightly when it appeared as though Castiel would not awake. That gave him a chance to actually look around his new prison.

It was simple, but more lavish than what he had expected for his new status. The room was wide and spacious. The king-sized bed stood in the middle, high posts at each corner that held up a thick canopy. When he looked up, he noticed it was a veil of the starry night sky at it's brightest, thousands of tiny white dots coating the black surface in an accurate replica of the Milky Way. The floor was black marble, and the walls painted a slate gray. There was a white fuzzy rug beneath the bed, circular and not big enough to cover the wide expanse of the room. At each side of the bed were black end tables, with little on them other than Dean's necklace, and the forgotten first aid kit at opposite sides.

The walls didn't hold many decorations, but there were a few. An old antique gun with a white hilt was mounted on the wall to his left, a glass casing around it to ensure its purity. Across from it was another weapon encased in glass, but this one was a simple silver blade, cone shaped in its design and no longer than an impressive dagger. For some strange reason, Dean thought they both looked familiar, though he was certain he had never seen either before in his life. Looking to his master, Dean cautiously slipped out of bed without waking him.

He took care to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible as he crept about the room. There were two doors on either side of the gun. The first one when he opened it revealed a private bathroom that was bigger than his entire shack back home. He closed it without turning the light on, and tried the second door, which led to an impressive walk in closet. With a sigh, he was about to close the door when he noticed his bag sitting on the floor, stuffed to the side of the door. It must have been brought in when he was sleeping, but he was immensely grateful to see it.

Quietly he knelt down and opened the bag, carefully looking over his shoulder to assure Castiel was still asleep. Then, he dug into the bag in search of a particular object that made him smile wryly when he found it. Twisting it in his hands, he silently opened his pocketknife, before slowly standing and leaving the closet. He crept around Castiel's bed with the stealth he used while hunting wild animals. It seemed a cowardly thing to kill a man in his sleep, but Castiel was no man. He was a monster, and Dean would not be subjugated to an inhuman abomination. There likely wouldn't be another chance to escape like this.

Without another thought, Dean rose his hand high over his head, wrapped his other hand securely around his fist, and plunged the knife into Castiel's chest with all of his humanly might. He heard the sternum break as the steel cracked through bone, and blood spurted up from the wound immediately. Castiel's eyes snapped open, his pupils blowing wide in confusion and pain, before a horrible scream erupted into the room. It became gurgled as blood choked up into the vampire's windpipe, and as Castiel flailed out, Dean flew back and away from the bed. He stumbled a few feet, crawling against the ground when he finally fell back completely, until he was cowering into the wall with wide green eyes.

Once Castiel had gained his bearings, his head jerked up to look at the knife plunged into his chest. He coughed horribly, blood spitting up to stain his porcelain skin, but with an unnatural ease, he brought a hand up and gently pulled the knife out of himself. He sat up, allowing blood to spill freely down his stomach, staining the white shirt he still wore. And his crystal blue eyes came to fall on Dean with a finality that horrified Dean to the very depths of his soul.

"Funny. You stabbed me the last time we met for the first time just the same, but it hurt less back then," Castiel spit hoarsely, swallowing down some blood before he spit the rest out onto his navy blue sheets. The words made absolutely no sense to Dean, leading him to believe this particular vampire was also batshit insane. Dean's shocked gaze turned disturbingly confused, and his mouth opened to shoot back a bewildered response. Instead, a breath of air gasped into his lungs when an unwanted scene flashed through his mind's eye.

_'Who are you?'_

_'I'm the one who gripped you tight, and raised you from Perdition.'_

_'Yeah…thanks for that.'_

The jumbled scene was gone as quickly as it came, leaving Dean panting for air. Terror had seized his heart, causing his hand to painfully grip his chest in an attempt to stifle his wild heart. It felt…well, it almost felt as if he had _been there_, standing across from a man who looked scarily akin to the man glaring at him now, saying those words just before he stuck a knife into a suited chest. _'What's happening,'_ he thought, face scrunching up in uncertainty and pain.

"You used to know better, Dean. You cannot kill a vampire by stabbing it in the chest," Castiel chided as he slowly got out of bed. Dean's eyes jerked up to the vampire, the human on the verge of hyperventilating. Castiel didn't even seem wounded anymore, despite how he had been choking on his own blood a mere moment ago.

"What the _fuck_ does that mean?!" Dean cried in an outrage. "_Who are you_, and why do you keep _saying_ shit like that?!" Castiel looked like he wanted to pity Dean for a moment, but the blue in his eyes grew cold not a full second later. He twisted the bloodied knife in his hand, contemplating what to do with Dean with an iron mask on his face. He slowly knelt before his slave, and didn't stall when Dean flinched slightly at the calm, smooth movement of the other.

"My chest hurts, Dean, and now I need to feed again," Castiel said icily. Without warning, his arm snapped out, and Castiel stabbed the knife into the marble of his floor, cracking the stone to embed the blade into it. Dean flinched horribly, throwing his arms over his head as he cowered into the wall. Castiel's eyes were too difficult to look in to, but his hand easily snaked its way between Dean's elbows and firmly grabbed his chin. He forced the human to turn his head and look into his angry eyes.

"While I once found your antics amusing, I do not anymore. You hurt me, Dean. And now I'm going to hurt you so I can heal," he snapped, before he tore the gauze off Dean's neck and pried the human's head to the side. Dean cried out in frustration when Castiel easily pulled him forward and sunk his fangs into the same wound he had drunk from just hours before. Despite his cold words, he was a bit gentler this time as he sucked the life out of Dean, and he did not take nearly as much either, for fear of killing him. He took enough to heal his wound, then released Dean to slump back against the door. The wound was much neater this time, so Castiel didn't bother bandaging it up as he stood and left the human, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand as he did.

A heavy breath left Dean, on the verge of a cry he would never let go fully. He hated himself for being so weak, and more importantly, he hated Castiel for everything he was. "Why are you like this?" he couldn't help but ask to the floor. He felt more than saw Castiel freeze in his walk to the bathroom, and Dean dared to turn his head to look at the vampire's back. He winced slightly when the movement caused his neck acute pain, but he ignored it to shakily ask, "Why do you keep acting like you know me?"

Castiel couldn't fully bring himself to walk away. He paused for a long moment, debating with himself, before he slowly twisted around to glare at Dean. "Maybe if you learn to be a good boy, I'll actually tell you one day," Castiel seethed, before he turned his back on Dean and entered his bathroom. The door closed with a sharp click. A moment later, Dean heard water running. If he weren't so shell-shocked, he would have marveled at the sound of real running water, but the fact of the matter was, he couldn't think much past his own confusing situation.

On the other side of the door, Castiel stripped his ruined shirt with stiff movements. He huffed a little, grimacing at the dull throb of pain in his chest that he looked down to inspect. He ran his fingers over the bloodied flesh, noticing that the skin had already healed over, but the bone was still cracked. It would take a little while longer to heal, which would leave him feeling sore until it did. Grumbling a little, he shed his pants, before turning the water off for the enormous bathtub. It could easily fit four people, and have room to spare, but Castiel never had guests when he bathed.

He stepped into the cool water and sank in, morbidly watching as his own blood spiraled through the clear liquid. Gloom settled around him, a haunted look of agony and depression dimming the gleam in his eyes. Dean hated him. Who could blame him? Castiel understood, but it didn't make it any easier to stomach. He just couldn't bring himself to be any other way. Melancholy wasn't something that easily washed out, and his soul had been decaying for over 300 years. No bit of hope could redeem all of that. Feeling disgusted with himself, he slipped forward against the wet tile until his head submerged entirely beneath the water, a futile attempt to drown out his poisonous thoughts.

Dean couldn't muster the strength to rise for a long time, and when he finally did, his limbs felt like jelly. He stumbled to his feet, leaning heavily into the wall for support, and unsteadily guided himself to the door. His head spiked with pain, and he was both dizzy and foggy, but he pushed through his yearning to fall over to unlock the door. As quietly as he could, he opened the door and slipped out of his prison. Nausea punched him in the stomach, and he couldn't keep his posture upright, forcing him to hobble down the hallway hunched over. He had no idea where he was going, and couldn't focus on the details of the corridor; he just needed to get away.

"Ohhh _no_, sweetie. You can't be wandering around the halls like this! That's a surefire way to get the boss man angry," someone called out to him. Dean slowly came to a stop, everything in his slow head telling him to jerk around and run, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate; they were too heavy and weak. His unfocused vision skittered around until it landed on the small woman quickly approaching him. She had hair so red it made his eyes hurt, and he shook slightly against the wall as he tried to force himself to stand taller. The girl grimaced when she stopped in front of him, her eyes trained on the ugly bite marks in his neck.

"Boy, he really did a number on you, didn't he?" she commented thoughtfully, skimming the sides of the puncture holes with one of her gloved hands. Dean jerked away from her, causing her to pull her hand back in a show of good faith. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. C'mon, I'll take care of you," she shushed him. He couldn't put up much of a fight; that much she could tell, so she scooted closer to him and tucked her body underneath his arm. With a gentle pull, she forced his weight to lean on her, and she helped to steer him through the hallways.

The walk seemed to take eons because Castiel's wing alone was opulently massive. The woman led him into a kitchen more grandiose than he had ever seen, and eased him into a stool at the grey marble top island before she scampered off. Dean's sluggish body gave out, and he slumped into the island, arms folding over one another to provide a pillow for his aching head. He was near unconsciousness by the time the woman returned with a large glass of water, and a plate of food. The rich smell caught his attention before the clatter of plates, and when he managed to push his torso upright, the woman was gone again.

Blinking, he looked around himself to note he was alone. It unsettled him some, but he wasn't going to ruin a perfect moment of solitude. Looking to the water, he realized how parched he really was, and took several greedy gulps before digging into his food. A fresh orange and a cold slab of roasted boar's meat was what he was provided with. He couldn't complain about the taste when he took a bite of the steak, because even cold it was more delicious than what he tended to cook for himself. It was on his third bite that he no longer felt like he was going to vomit, and a bit of life returned to his being. The girl returned as well, holding a full bottle in her hand as well as a white box.

"What's a vampire need with a kitchen? Don't they only feed on blood or some crap," Dean griped, a cautionary glare trained on the woman as she set her items down on the counter next to him. She smiled a little, and nodded as she opened the box to reveal a medical kit.

"They do. But are you into the blood diet? 'Cause I sure ain't. Slaves aren't much use if starved to death," she explained, while bringing an alcohol pad up to Dean's neck. He hissed sharply at the initial contact, but otherwise didn't make a fuss. He let her clean out his wound as he nibbled on an orange slice. "All the masters have their own kitchens for us regular folk to eat from."

"They all have their own _kitchens?!" _The woman laughed at Dean's outraged bewilderment, but she didn't comment. Dean scoffed around his food at how disgustingly rich these monsters seemed to be. Glaring at his food, he picked at another orange slice as the redhead pressed a new gauze pad to his neck. She taped it down, the packed up her kit as Dean fell deep in thought.

"Are you a slave?" he asked her quietly. She glanced at him for a moment, a humorless smile briefly passing over her lips.

"Yup. Been here practically all my life. I'm Castiel's handmaiden, I guess. I keep his wing in working order, and make sure the other slaves do what they're told. I'm kinda like the boss's assistant, you could say."

"How many of you are there?"

"You mean _us_?" she corrected, staring pointedly at Dean as he winced heavily. A small smirk played over her lips. "You'll get used to it. There's only five in this wing, including you. The other Angels keep many more slaves, but Castiel doesn't really like people…he keeps it small. Two for feeding; well, I guess three now with you. And then two for cleaning and householdly chores," the girl explained, sounding far too chipper to be discussing slave work. Dean fought not to grimace again as he fidgeted slightly in his chair. There was another question on the tip of his tongue, but he was almost afraid to ask it. Still, he didn't know if he'd get another chance, so he took a deep, steady breath to calm himself.

"Do the slaves ever…." He paused to lick his lips, and his eyes flickered to the woman's face for a brief moment. "Are humans ever killed here?" The woman gave him a rueful smile.

"All the time," she stated with finality. There was a pause where she looked at the large glass bottle seated in front of her, and she wrapped her slender fingers around the neck to begin twisting it absently. The glass whined as it slid round and around on the stone. "Some of the others go through humans like clockwork, but Castiel has only killed a few times. He's a skilled feeder, and isn't very greedy, so it's usually when someone pushes his temper too much that he gets carried away," she tried to assure Dean, but he only laughed bitterly.

"Guess that means I won't be lasting here long," he mumbled morosely. The woman settled her eyes on his face then, and pressed her lips together thoughtfully. Then, she pushed the bottle in her hands toward Dean, which he stilled in his palm. He looked at her curiously until she pointed at the bottle.

"Give it to him as a peace offering. It's his favorite," she said. Dean stared at the bottle for a moment, before he looked to the girl, and felt the first beat of tenderness he'd felt since arriving. A small smile even bloomed over his face in response.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

"Charlie," another voice answered, cutting through the comfortable conversation with booming authority. It caused both humans to jump slightly in their own skin, and icy fear rattled to life within Dean's stomach. They both turned to see Castiel standing at the edge of the kitchen, his moussed up hair still wet from his bath. All he wore were a pair of black sweat pants; his pale chest was bare and showed no signs of Dean's earlier assault, which made the human gulp heavily in fear. "Conspiring against me again?"

"What?! No, no, of course not Castiel," Charlie stuttered, a cheesy smile parting her lips as she started to sidestep out of the kitchen. Castiel's sharp eyes followed her as she left. She gave one last encouraging smile to Dean, before she jogged off to continue her morning's work. When she was gone, Castiel's gaze quickly jerked back to Dean, who fought with all his might not to squirm under that intense stare. Castiel could hear his heartbeat begin to race, and it made his gut twist in desirable knots.

"So am I supposed to call you Castiel, or _Master_," was Dean's snarky icebreaker. Castiel stared at him for a drawn out moment before he slowly stalked closer. Dean tensed up slightly, leaning back on his stool so his side was tucked protectively into the counter.

"You may call me Cas," he finally said quietly, the vicious bite gone from his deep voice. Surprised, Dean's eyes flitted around his face for a moment.

"Cas…" he repeated slowly. Cas tilted his head a bit at hearing the word come from Dean's lips once again. "And what if I don't want to call you that?"

"I would greatly appreciate if you would," Castiel responded easily, and his tone gave Dean a clear indication there was no arguing. He didn't know why he was trying to be so difficult; maybe he wanted to see how far he could push Cas before he made him too angry. Surely getting himself killed would be better than a life of enslavement. Still, he knew he was being reckless, and his attention turned back to the bottle of amber liquid sitting in his hand. He blinked at it, before he looked at Castiel who stopped a mere foot away from him. For a moment, Dean stared up into the vampire's face, before he bit onto his bottom lip, dropped his eyes, and slid the bottle toward Cas.

Cas dropped his eyes to it, a small smile threatening to tug at his lips. One of his hands came up, and he gently cupped it around the bottle, making sure his fingers splayed tenderly over Dean's. The human instantly withdrew his hand as if Castiel hand electrocuted him, and a soft chuckle slipped out of Cas' lips.

"What's the matter, Dean? Not into men?" Castiel asked, aggravatingly amused. It grated Dean's nerves as he glared up at his master.

"As a matter of fact, no. I'm not," Dean bit out, and to his further irritation, Castiel's sly smirk only widened. "What?!" Dean snapped angrily. Cas shook his head, pulling the bottle closer to him before he pulled the top off.

"Nothing," he murmured, his tone suggesting the exact opposite. But he didn't comment further as he brought the bottle up to gulp down a few sips. When he brought it down, his pink lips were shining with the left over moister; he made no attempt to dry it. Dean scowled heavily, glaring at Castiel as though he was going to bite him again.

"Do you get off on making me uncomfortable?" Dean couldn't help but snap.

"Maybe," Cas deadpanned. "Would you like some?" he asked, offering the bottle to Dean.

"What is it?"

"It's whiskey."

"Uhh…sure." Dean hesitantly took the bottle from Castiel, and turned it in his hands. It had no label, so he had no way of telling what it was. He stared down at it's rich color for another minute, before he couldn't help but ask, "aren't you pissed at me?"

"Would you like me to be?"

"…No," Dean muttered, trying desperately not to pout like a damn child. Hastily, he brought the bottle up to his lips and took a large gulp. He nearly spit the entire thing out when the pungent bite hit his tongue. A little spluttered from his lips as he forced as much down as he could. The bottle clattered onto the hard marble when he started coughing horrible as his entire insides began to burn. Castiel started laughing at him in earnest.

"Haven't you ever had whiskey before?" the vampire asked in disbelief.

When Dean managed to stop coughing long enough, he shook his head and answered hoarsely, "no. Alcohol is expensive, and horded religiously where I came from. Occasionally we'd have some home brewed beer, but nothing like this." He wheezed again, trying not to cough anymore while Castiel smiled at him, though it seemed a bit…sad in nature to Dean, which just confused him even more. Eyes dropping in thought, he wracked his brain for all the odd events since he'd been here before slowly looking back up to Castiel.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yes?"

"My necklace…have you seen it before?" Dean went with the least direct or intrusive question he could think of, but the results suggested he had asked his master something terribly personal. He watched Castiel's face fall at the question, his demeanor hardening as his face schooled into a blank slate. One of Dean's brows rose questioningly as Castiel stared down at the bottle now back in his hands.

"I have. It was a long time ago," he responded somberly.

"Will you tell me-"

"No," Castiel snapped, and Dean's mouth abruptly snapped shut. "Finish your food, then I'll show you my home and explain the rules," the vampire ordered, before he snatched the bottle off the table and stalked off in a hurry. Flabbergasted once more, Dean stared after him with wide sage eyes, mind blank of all thought. _'Fuck. What the hell is going on.'_ Frustrated, he begrudgingly went back to eating his food.

**AN: Soooooo, did you like it?! Please tell me if you liked it! I hope I gave you guys a good follow up to the last chapter. Anyone know what's going on yet? Are you more confused, less confused? Please tell me your thoughts! And thanks again for showing me all this love guys. You're the best. ALSO SUPERNATURAL IN 2 DAYS WOOOOOOOOH! My life is complete again.**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: You guys, thank you all so much for your wonderful support and generous feedback. It warms my heart that many of you have reviewed, favorited, and followed. To answer a few questions that were posed, it is unlikely that Dean will be turned into a vampire if that's what you're looking for, but becoming more than human, well...you'll have to wait and see. As for what is going on, Mistofstars and the guest review Sam get this chapter dedicated to them for guessing, and you guys get 800 points for being on the right track. You're just missing a few elements. I know things are confusing right now, but they're meant to be; I promise you though, things will connect as the story progresses. Enough of my blubbering. On with the story.**

After finishing his food, Dean had to follow Castiel out of the kitchen and into the vast corridor. Their walls were painted the same slate gray as his room, but the stone floors were covered in a deep blue carpet, that squished with plushy comfort under their feet. Ancient paintings were hung on the wall neatly, all of a world Dean couldn't recognize; they were beautiful, and peaceful, of autumn trees and scenic lakes, wildlife and peaceful runes; no decay, no chaos. Cas was still drinking out of his bottle as the pair walked stiffly next to one another. Every so often, Dean would send a cautious glance at his master, unsure whether walking beside him was appropriate. But Castiel didn't even seem to notice his presence as he sluggishly pulled his weight through his own halls.

"My wing consists of the entire southeastern portion of the castle. There are three floors, but you may only step foot on the first two," Castiel finally began, voice dry and bleak. Dean dared a lingering glance on the vampire's face.

"What's on the third floor?" Castiel met his expectations by not answering his question at all. He didn't even glance Dean's way, or give any indication he had even heard the human.

"You are not to step foot out of this wing, not even to my family's common areas. They are dangerous, and will not hesitate to harm you. While Gabriel and Raphael usually stay locked up in their high towers, Naomi and Hester are always lurking."

"Stay away from your family. Got it."

"This, here leads toward the recreation rooms, and further to my courtyard outside," Castiel stated, gesturing down the adjacent hallway that just crept up. There were two embroidered doors on either side of the hallway, a pale gold to contrast the bleak walls, and at the end of the hallway a large arch opened into the morning light beyond. Dean could see pieces of old stone and flourishing wildlife beyond the gap that let cool air into the hallway. "At times, I allow my slaves some downtime, to enjoy painting or sports, or whatever the hell you humans enjoy to do. You may use these rooms for your heart's desire, when I am in the mood to permit it; I can assure you, anything you can think of you'll find within them. The courtyard is only permissible under supervision."

"Yeah…wouldn't want any of us trying to escape," Dean joked snidely. Castiel laughed at him whole-heartedly.

"You may try to escape if you wish, Dean, by all means. But beyond my walls there are other vampires that live in these states; it is our territory, after all. And you don't know the slightest of how to deal with them. I assure you only death awaits you if you try to flee," Castiel mocked him. Dean tried not to pout at that tidbit of information. He hadn't thought of other vampires roaming free outside these prison walls, but in hindsight he should have known better. The territories were riddled with the kind of the ruling class; even the Madelines had multitudes of fairies roaming their quadrant, living among the people with their own system of rules above that of their human counterparts. He wondered how the vampires governed their own people, and studied Castiel's face as if that would give him the answer.

"Maybe that's not such a bad thing," Dean finally said in response, _'Because I'd rather be in a ditch than somebody's bitch'_. Castiel finally looked at him, a knowing glint in his eyes that held a bit more malice than Dean was comfortable with. The vampire looked away and took another sloppy drink from the whiskey bottle.

"Do you have any family, Dean?" Castiel asked as they walked on. A mild look of surprise flitted through Dean's stark eyes.

"No."

"No mother, father….brother?" Dean's eyes narrowed at the question, and he felt a disturbed squirm in his gut; he just didn't know why there was suddenly a pit there.

"No. I was found as a baby at the steps of the orphanage I grew up in. No one saw who dropped me, and no one asked either. So why are you?" Dean's tone was more hostile than it should have been, and Castiel's ice blue eyes shifted slightly to cast him a cautioning glance. Then, he looked ahead again to carry on with the tour.

"You've already seen the kitchen," Castiel said, waving his hand to their right, and Dean noticed they were passing by the second entrance; the one Charlie had first brought him through. There were two ways in and out, while the hallway they were in wrapped around the back of it, before connecting the two entrances and conjoining in several different directions with other hallways. "The dining hall is on the left," Castiel gestured. "You may use either for your meals, which for you, may be at any time you feel hungry. I need you to eat regularly, because I will be feeding from you every other day."

"What?! You _can't_-" Dean's voice was propelled right back into his throat when Castiel moved so quickly to those three words, Dean ended up with his back in the wall. Castiel didn't even touch him; he merely advanced on Dean in a manner that forced the human's survival instincts to flee from the imposing threat, and the vampire casually, but purposefully planted his free hand against the wall, right next to Dean's head.

"I can feed from you every day, if you prefer," Castiel sneered at him, his piercing blue eyes flaring dangerously with a barely contained rage. Dean felt his heart hammering in his chest, and Castiel hissed at the overwhelming sound of it thrumming in his own ears. "You're my new favorite, Dean. Get used to it. And I _own_ you, which means you do _what_ I say, _when_ I say. So if I tell you to suck my cock, you better be on your knees before your racing heart beats thrice."

The amount of panic that crept into Dean's face over those words made a salacious smile cross Castiel's face. He moved his hand off the wall, only to splay his fingers across the center of Dean's chest so he could _feel_ the hammering of Dean's heart beneath thin fabric. It made his grin turn lazy, _drunk_ off the feel of blood racing beneath his fingertips. He leaned forward then, close enough that Dean felt the need to press himself harder into the wall, even pushing himself onto his tip-toes to escape Castiel's looming lips however he could. Castiel stopped when he was hovering close enough that Dean couldn't escape his cold breath washing over the human's perfect lips.

"Relax, Dean," Castiel whispered to him, though his tone was anything but comforting. "If I wanted to force myself on you, I would have done so already." Castiel shoved off Dean lightly, expanding the space between them by gracefully leaning back and continuing on his cavalier walk. A sharp breath was pulled into Dean's lungs, the relief of having the vampire back away doing nothing to ease his panicked heart. His head twisted, following Castiel's languid movements with still wide sage eyes.

"Is that your idea of a fucking comfort?!" he spat after the vampire through gasping breaths. No matter how many times that abominable monster frightened him into a panic attack, he couldn't stop his damn mouth from running away with his uncontrollable derision. Luckily, this time Castiel seemed to ignore it.

"Not really, no," Castiel admitted lazily. "Keep up," he snapped in addition, before bringing the whiskey to his lips again to chug while he walked. Dean grit his teeth, fighting back the angry snarl scratching at his throat, before he pushed off the wall to follow after his master. "How old are you?" Castiel asked once Dean finally caught back up.

Dean glared at him for a moment, severely reluctant to play anymore Q&A sessions. Begrudgingly, he replied, "Twenty-six."

"Hm," Castiel muttered. "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted. You have free reign of the kitchen. Help yourself to anything you desire, or ask one of my staff to make you something."

"You mean your _other slaves,_" Dean mocked condescendingly. He may have been a servant all his life, but this made what he had before seem like heaven. This was an all time low, and he just couldn't get over it. The human didn't really deal with total subjugation very well. Castiel, for a brief moment, seemed amused by it.

"Tell me, do you enjoy evoking my annoyance with you?"

"_Annoyance?! _ You mean you _haven't_ been unnecessarily hostile this whole time?"

"No, Dean," Castiel said, turning his head to look at the man pointedly. "When I turn wrathful, I kill." Dean balked at the answer as Castiel turned his head to stare ahead of them once more. A beat of stiff silence passed over them as Dean forced himself to keep up. "I have a few private studies through this hall, and toward the end on the right are the slave quarters. Many are empty; I only keep five."

"So I get to have my own room?" Dean asked. Castiel stopped, his head slowly tilting to fully face Dean.

"Each slave has their own room, yes. And two common rooms where they can mingle during their off time, as well as a communal washroom. But you will not be joining the others in your bedding arrangements."

"Uhhh….what?" Dean blanched slightly when Castiel smiled at him.

"You won't be staying in the slave quarters. You'll be sleeping with me, in my bed. I will not be letting you out of my sight, which means as far as your identity goes, you'll function as my shadow," Castiel explained calmly, waiting as the mindboggling shock restarted Dean's brain functions. When his slave finally mustered the capacity to react, he saw the rage building before it exploded. The moment Dean's brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to yell, Castiel's hand shot up to grip a vice-like clamp around Dean's lower jaw. It forced Dean to keep his mouth hanging wide open, with Castiel's thumb hooked over his teeth so he could easily yank the man's face down the few inches it took to come level with his.

"In fact, you're going to have to change your sleeping schedule to accommodate mine. I sleep during the day, which means today will be your last as a day dweller. Now then," he mused, as he began to shake Dean's head a little in syncopation with the puncture of his words. "I will finish showing you the second floor. Then, I will allow you to spend the remainder of you day with my other blood bags while I sleep." Castiel released him then, and noticed the small smear of blood on his thumb from where his finger had dug too deeply into the floor of Dean's mouth. For a split second, Castiel stared at the color, before he brought his thumb between his lips to suck it off with a loud pop, just as he turned down a corridor on their left.

Heat colored Dean's cheeks with embarrassment, the level of emasculation he felt rivaling how utterly shocked he still was. Sore, he brought a hand up to gingerly maneuver his jaw, attempting to work out the kinks. His shimmering eyes followed after Castiel as he glided through the next corridor, and rage exploded in Dean's gut.

"_HEY! _What the fuck?!" he yelled after the retreating vampire. "You expect me to live chained at your side? What about my recreation time, and my fucking meals!?" Then, he winced slightly as a sharp sting bolted through his lower jaw, and his tongue gingerly touched to the cut in his mouth before it sharply retreated when the pain only intensified. Castiel twisted his head to cast a half-hearted glance over his shoulder at the same time his feet began to ascend the enormous, carpeted staircase that bloomed in front of him with practiced steps. Somehow, through his thicket of rage, Dean recognized the bulk of his master's back; how the lean, but developed muscles of his shoulders rippled beneath the timeless skin, flexing with barely contained agitation that made it look, for a split second, that the arches of wings would sit appropriately within the sharp curves of their definition. Dean dutifully ignored the possibility that his blush darkened slightly at the traitorous thought.

"I said you could use the recreation room _when I permitted_," Castiel called tranquilly, before he turned his head forward. "And my slaves don't sleep very much. They're normally awake during the night hours as I am. My presence won't interfere with your meals. I promise you, Dean, I'll make sure you're well taken care of. So yes, you will live chained at my side." He stopped at the top of the staircase, where it flattened to a pier that held a large stained glass window above it. On either side, the stairs continued up to the second floor, wrapping around into the ceiling above Dean's head. Castiel stared at Dean with a bored expression on his face. "Must I drag you?" he mused, a single brow arching in question.

Dean glared up at him, and swallowed thickly when he noticed how the sun refracted through the window above him. It cemented the former picture in his head, casting a soft, white glow behind Castiel that illuminated the vampire's unnatural beauty, complete with a hazy set of highly arched shapes that looked (disturbingly) like wings. Jaw clenching, Dean resentfully followed after Castiel. When he reached the plane Castiel was on, those blue eyes regarded him carefully for a minute, before Cas continued to lead the way up to the second floor.

"The only room you need to concern yourself with on this floor is my room, which is to the left. Follow the hall to it's end and make a right; at the very end, in the last door is my room. There is a library I keep open to the right of this hall, which you are welcome to, if you so desire," Castiel explained curtly, pointing the appropriate way with each direction he gave. They stood in the foyer of the second floor, and Castiel slowly turned around to face Dean. Frowning slightly, Dean looked from one end to another, wondering why he had never registered coming or going from this floor. He supposed it was the initial shock, and then the subsequent blood-loss that had blacked his mind out of the journey it took to Castiel's room. To his new prison cell.

"Dean?" Castiel said suddenly, breaking Dean out of his stupor. The human quickly looked to the leering vampire, and Cas tilted his head in a curious way. "What do you know of demons?"

"Demons?" Dean repeated with mild surprise. "I don't know….not much. They didn't venture into Fae territory very often. I-" Dean stuttered tersely, before a sharp gasp broke his words short. Suddenly, there was a montage in his head that had him stumbling toward the wall, knees buckling until Castiel's strong arms engulfed him, easing him to sink to the floor as his eyes squeezed shut. His head exploded with a rapid succession of images his brain could hardly get a bearing on.

_Black eyes, blond hair. Meg. Smoke, clouds of it swelling into the air, leaving soot and sulfur in its wake that suffocated him. Red eyes, sly lips, ones that spoke whispers of truth and promises that fed on an empty soul. __**His**__ soul, claimed and damned by sinful lips, a black mark. Blonde hair, black eyes, lying bitch. Ruby. "You're going to die, Dean. And this, this is what you're going to become!" White eyes, burning lights, devil's claws and hounds call. Blood, black smoke, Hell's fog and screaming death. Black hair, black eyes. Ruby; dead, magic knife, a flicker of dying light. White eyes. Black eyes. Lilith, Meg, demon demon demon! Fire. Shadowed figure. Yellow eyes. __**Azazel**__._

Dean was gasping for air, heaving as if he hadn't taken a breath in centuries. His mind was spinning so quickly, he felt like he was about to vomit. Heart pounding, a humiliating sob choked out of Dean's throat into the breast of his master's toned muscles for reasons he couldn't even comprehend. The last image, as terrifying as they all had felt, had left a particularly brutal blow to his pattering heart. He just couldn't remember why.

Names cropped up with faces, and visions of horrifically vivid detail slipped through a continuum of disturbing certainty, faster than he could process, all muddied together. A blur. Black smoke clouded everything. He felt himself kiss the lips of a red-eyed woman, felt the seal it put on his soul. He saw _his own eyes_ black as he screamed at himself, feeling the terror from knowing it was certain. His own entrails ripped out from shadowed beasts, the heat of Hell's fire. There had been screams echoing in his head, and brief flashes of unimaginable pain sparking inside his consciousness. He watched his own hands slick with blood, watched himself thrust a blade into a woman's chest, her spine flickering with a sickish yellow light. Salacious grins in every shift of vision, all with coals for souls and evil intentions. So many faces…. so many names, all with stories behind them he could barely piece together. But they were all seen through _his _eyes.

_'What the fuck is happening to me?' _Despite everything, that single desperate thought made Dean's fingers clench tighter into the hard muscles of Castiel's biceps.

"Dean? Dean, what happened," he heard a voice calling, thick and rough like an anchor scraping at the bottom of a coral reef. It snapped him out of the terrifying clamps of his mind, and Dean's face jerked up to stare into the vampire's face, looking down on him with unbridled worry etched in every bit of his face. There were even worry lines creased into his forehead, and his cold eyes had gleaned over with rapid concern. It took Dean a moment to realize what was happening, and when he processed that he was curled in the monster's arms, Dean jerked away fiercely until his body collided with the railing behind him.

"Nothing!" he snapped defensively, tanned cheeks beet red and a scowl darkening his face. "Just a head rush, probably from you stealing too much of my fucking blood." He was seething with anger, but his eyes were boring holes into the floor and not Castiel. Furthermore, the vampire's sensitive ears could hear Dean's heart hammering faster than a twister.

"You're lying," Cas snapped, the worry coating over in irritation. Castiel grabbed onto the worn material of Dean's frayed peasant shirt and pulled his hunched form up, only so he could slam Dean's shoulders into the railing once more. The impact caused the wood to give a sharp _'crack'_, and Dean winced slightly. "Tell me the truth," Cas demanded, his crystal eyes searching for Dean's eyes frantically. But Dean made no attempt to meet his eyes, and Castiel felt his anger peaking.

"_ANSWER ME,"_ Castiel yelled, his dark voice roaring with a sound akin to the snap of thunder. Dean flinched horribly in his hold, cowering slightly at the booming voice, before his own pride got a grip over him.

"_Alright! FUCK," _Dean yelled back, shoving brutally at Castiel's arms to get him off. Castiel relented, releasing Dean when he was shoved to fall back on his own haunches. Dean grumbled under his breath, still not looking to Cas, anywhere but him. His eyes settled on the whiskey bottle, lying on it's side and still rolling slightly, forgotten when Castiel had dropped it in order to catch Dean. The human was still grumbling when he reached forward and snatched it in his hands, immediately bringing it to his lips to guzzle as much as he could take. Several long swallows rushed down his throat, before he spluttered, coughing as he brought the bottle down to rest at his side. He almost wretched at the burning it caused through his whole system, but he managed to keep his stomach down as he coughed.

Finally, once he wiped his mouth down with the back of his hand, he glared into Castiel's eyes. Dean's face was hard, and Castiel's was no kinder. "I…. saw something," he grumbled lamely. When Cas merely tilted his head to urge Dean to go on, the human sighed heavily and let his eyes wander off. It was easier to speak when he didn't have to stare into those vibrant blue eyes. "It was…I don't know, a flash? Flashes, really. Like a string of pictures all jumbled together of… of people, and places, and events." Dean struggled to put it into words, and it only worsened his headache. Groaning, he brought his hands up, and rubbed the heels of his palm into his eyes roughly.

Another heavy breath left him when his hands finally dropped into his lap, lifeless. His eyes blinked blearily as he stared at a spot on the wall, unseeing. "They were memories, I think… of demons and… but they were-" he huffed, "I saw them through my own eyes. But I've never seen-" When his voice died off, and he seemed to make no move to speak, Castiel asked a question.

"Can you give me specifics?"

"I don't know," Dean growled in frustration. "One was named Meg, and another Ruby. There were black eyes, and red eyes, and-" Dean licked his lips, unsure of how to continue. "I saw… things. Saw myself do things, and _say_ things, but… This is _crazy! _It doesn't make any fucking sense!" Dean snapped, unable to contain the hysteria that was building up inside him. "What did you put in this fucking drink?!"

Castiel gave him a flat look, appalled at the human brain's attempt to rationalize that which it did not understand. He didn't even bother with answering Dean's petulant blaming; instead, his mind was focused on the possibilities. He knew better than most what was possible, but this. Even for him, this was…unimaginable. And still, the proof was there, screaming at his face. When he looked back at Dean, he asked, "Have you had flashes like this before?"

Dean stilled at the question, trying his damnedest not to fidget. "Uhhh…" he hesitated, but one look at Castiel's harsh glare, and he swallowed his fabrications down. "Yeah. Before, when you said I had stabbed you when we met… I saw myself do it, but you weren't dressed so casually." There was a beat of silence as Dean mustered the courage to admit to the rest. "And… once more, a long time ago. It was when I found my necklace. I…I saw a kid give it to me."

"Do you know his name?"

"No," Dean said, maybe a little bit too defensively. There was a stressed crease between his eyes as he glared at his own legs. "But…he felt like a brother to me. We were so little, and he gave it to me as a present." Dean paused, searching his own legs as he listened to his own words. He sounded insane, and he _knew_ he was because – "But that didn't happen. My necklace was buried in the mud. I found it, alone, in the middle of a hunting trip while I was deep in the forest." He felt like his heart was stuck between beats, his mouth falling open in honest pain as his mind staggered in utter loss. "Am I crazy?"

"No, Dean. You're not crazy."

"Then what the fuck is happening to me?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Don't fuck with me! That's bullshit, and we both know it. You're not telling me something. _What aren't you telling me,"_ Dean snarled, his vicious eyes now boring into Castiel's lax body. Anger welled into Castiel's eyes faster than a breaking dam, and he leaned forward, crawling over his own body until he was planted in front of Dean, strong fists buried into the blue carpet on either side of Dean's crossed legs. He brought his face mere inches from Dean, and a low, feral growl rumbled from his throat as his eyes flashed an unearthly white for a split second.

"Mind your _fucking_ tone," Castiel seethed, his arms shaking slightly with the exertion it took _not_ to strike out and crack Dean across his skull. Dean seemed to understand the danger surrounding him, because he shrunk back into the railing a mite of an inch, though he didn't let his sharp glare waiver from the other's face. He refused to back down this time, and though Castiel felt a small swell of pride at Dean's bravery, he would not stand for the insolence any longer.

_"All right,"_ the vampire murmured, pitch low and dangerous. "You want to be a bastard about it, then no play time for you," Castiel chided, and Dean's brows furrowed at the almost playful quip. He opened his mouth to retort, but Castiel's hand came up and clamped down around the muscle of Dean's trapezoid and _squeezed_. The pain that shot through his entire body caused Dean to scream out at the top of his lungs, but it took less than ten seconds for the surmounting pain to overtake his mind and black everything out. He was unconscious, slumping into the floor, in record time.

Castiel released him, and tilted his head for a moment as he stared down at Dean. With a small sigh, he got up before reaching down to snatch up both the whiskey bottle and the collar of Dean's shirt. It would be easy to pick the human up and carry him to his room, but Cas felt like dragging the insolent man. So drag him he did, across the carpeted floor until he dropped Dean, slumped against the marble floor of his room, half on the white rug, half off. Castiel's eyes shifted slightly, roaming over the unconscious man's body unabashedly for a moment. Then, he brought the bottle back to his lips and finished it's contents.

Now what to do with Dean?

Castiel didn't want to risk getting stabbed in his sleep again; it was rather unpleasant. And he wouldn't risk Dean sleeping anywhere but under him, because he didn't trust his siblings in the least bit. A single moment, one mistake that gave them an opening, and it would all be over. Dean would be ripped away from him before he had a chance to figure all of this out. With a pensive purse of his lips, he placed the empty bottle down on his end table, next to Dean's necklace.

He sighed heavily, mind already made up despite how much he wished it were a different decision. It wasn't his plan of action that bothered him, but rather, how little it actually bothered him. It didn't disturb him at all…. and that, was unsettling. With a hard frown on his face, he retreated into his closet, the sound of rustling falling on deaf ears. When he emerged, there were a few belts cupped in his fingertips. Eyes trailing up to Dean, Cas swung the leather straps over his shoulder before he moved toward the man on his floor. In the solitude of his room, he felt comfortable enough to slip his hands beneath Dean with care, and gently coddled the man's limp form to his breast. The few moments of contact were savored, before Cas carefully laid Dean upon his bed, belly up.

When he straightened, Castiel reached for one of Dean's wrists, and wrapped the belt around his flesh twice, before he fastened it around his bedpost with the aid of another conjoined belt (as his bed was rather large, he needed a little extra length to reach the posts, so fastened two belts together through their buckles). The same was done to Dean's other wrist, having it tied to the adjacent post. He left Dean the dignity of leaving his ankles free, and stepped back to admire his work. His head tilted a little as he soaked in Dean's spread torso.

Now this brought back a memory or two, ones he wouldn't give himself the liberty to revisit. It was simply too painful. Despite this, he couldn't help but quirk his lips in amusement at the fact that their roles were finally reversed. The thought was fleeting, and pushed aside as Castiel crawled onto his bed, far darker thoughts pooling into his mind. Things had changed so much, and he certainly was not the same person Dean had known so many years ago. Yet the hunter seemed rather in tact, save for a certain level of naïveté he never had before.

What was his Father up to? He didn't put much stock into his deadbeat dad, but there was surely no other behind this. Well – there could be one, but Castiel didn't want to think about that possibility. If this was just another torture, he may very well go completely mad this time. Still, it was likelier to be the former of the two; he just couldn't figure out why.

Dean's scent finally overcame his busy mind, and Castiel's nostrils flared heavily as the thick redolence intoxicated him. His eyes drooped slightly, and his mouth parted in a wanting gasp. It had been so long since he smelt the potency of Dean's pheromones, which reminded him of warm apple pie and honey-smoked charcoal. Of thick leather, and sweet, sweet spring dew. Everything that was worth cherishing in this world. Involuntarily, Castiel sunk on the bed, lowering his body into the curve that Dean's silhouette created. He hummed contentedly as his muscles eased, his head sinking onto the familiar space of Dean's breast. An arm wrapped atop the human, curling into its owner to make Castiel look like a cowering child. With one leg hiked halfway over Dean's, Castiel immediately fell into a deep slumber, with his last conscious thought reminiscing of the way Dean smelled like Heaven to him.

_"Well, last night on earth. What are your plans?"_

_"I just thought I'd sit here quietly…"_

_"Come on, anything? Booze, women?" The pause gave him away. "You have been with a woman before, right? Or an angel, at least?" Despite his infallible ability to remain stoic, he couldn't keep up the pretense, and rubbed the back of his neck, yet again giving away his innocence to Dean. "You mean to tell me you've never been up there doing a little cloud-seeding?"_

_"I've never had occasion, okay?" Why he felt the need to be defensive with Dean at the time, he couldn't say. And before he knew it, the hunter was dragging him to a brothel. If he had known on the way there, he likely would have chickened out, but then there he was, sitting wide-eyed and terrified as promiscuous women strut around. Dean's glee was more adorable than the lot of them, but Cas hadn't known what that was or meant at the time. He was also too afraid to really take note._

_He had no idea what Dean was talking about with menus, because wasn't that for food? And what did Dean expect him to do with a tiger? Chastity. Really?! Fucking Chastity. It was like God was slapping him in the face with his disobedience; no one could say the guy didn't have a sense of humor. She was all hands and sweet nothings… sweet nothings that made his skin crawl with discomfort. Wasn't he supposed to say something back? Something comforting and sincere? She pushed him down onto the bed, undoing his tie and the buttons of his shirt. He felt a toad lodge itself in his throat…that was the expression, wasn't it?_

_Trying to swallow, he captured her lustful eyes and said, "It's not your fault your father, Gene, ran off." The lust drained from her eyes immediately, and then there was screaming. Things were being thrown at him, and Dean came running to replace the false warmth of Chastity. Soon they were running, and Cas hadn't the slightest idea why, but Dean said to run, so he followed. Then, Dean was laughing, and it was suddenly all worth it because the sound of that laugh… it did things to him he didn't understand, but never wanted to stop. Warmth spread in his gut, and he couldn't help but quirk a tiny smile back, despite how incredibly confused and disturbed he still was. _

_Was this what it was like to be happy? He didn't know; he'd only ever seen it before, never experienced. And then it was taken from him, in a blur of blunt words._

_"God? Didn't you hear? He's dead, Castiel. Dead. There's no other explanation. He's gone for good."_

_No._

_"Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?"_

**_No._**

_He was laughing at himself then, his own broken shell mocking his moral fiber. A sleazy grin he grew to hate met his eyes, and dead blue eyes pierced through his center before his own voice said, "Basically, you pathetic fool… He's Dead. You're Evil."_

_NO!_

Castiel woke with a start, chest heaving and thick beads of sweat rolling across his pale skin. Wide crystal eyes stared into the quiet of his room, a shaking hand passing through his damp hair to force it into unruly spikes. These dreams, these memories, they were his nightmares… _especially_ the good parts. It had been a long time since his mind dwelled on better days, and they were no less painful than they used to be. Reminiscing on times when he could make Dean laugh, open and carefree, when the worst of their problems was trapping his dick of an older brother, Raphael… Bittersweet wasn't a strong enough word for the bite it took out of his heart.

His Father was someone he didn't dwell on if he could help it. That, too, was a painful subject. His brethren had long since assumed their Father's death, but Castiel had still believed. He believed for a long while, until he, too, was broken. And now… He swallowed heavily as his stomach felt sick. This was too much; he couldn't bear it as he looked back at Dean to see that youthful, beautiful face slumbering more peacefully than he had seen in three centuries. The human wouldn't wake for a long while more; that pressure point worked better than anesthesia.

It was only a little past six in the evening, a bit early for him, but his nerves were too fried to sleep anymore. And he needed to eat. Gritting his teeth together, Cas rolled out of bed. He felt awkward for the first time in a long time, and stood idly by the side of his bed as he ran a hand through his sweaty hair once more. A single look at Dean sent his gut spiraling in discomforting ways, so abruptly, he made for the door. He locked it quietly behind him, before he ventured toward his slaves' corridor to retrieve his breakfast.

**AN: Strange, I know! I know this chapter posed a lot more questions, and I'm not sure how I felt about both dream sequences, but it was the best I could do, and unfortunately this chapter was necessary because it fully set up my story. I have given you all that will remain true of the canon to the T in this chapter with Castiel's memory dream (i,e, until the beginning of season 5, everything remains canon accurate). From here on out, things are going to diverge from the canon, and I will be making up my own story. You are going to see both past and present, and I will show you how they got from there to here, as well as exploring the strange new world Dean lives in where monsters rule everything. I hope you guys are still enjoying this story, and will enjoy the ride! Please let me know what you think, and keep guessing or asking me questions or making requests! I love it all :D **

**Till next time **


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you again to everyone who's followed, favorited, and reviewed! I appreciate all of you, and am so glad you're all enjoying this story! A few things; I realized in chapter 1 that I stated Dean didn't have a last name, but the fairies called him "Mr. Winchester", so I changed that to "Dean", because Dean really doesn't know his last name in this. Just a small announcement. Also, I believe the way their flashbacks are going to work is, Castiel's will happen backward (from now until 5x03), and Dean's will occur forward (from 5x03 until now). They should remain pretty linear, but one or two might happen out of order, which is why I'm also going to label every flashback with a time stamp from now on. So just be aware of that. Other than that, I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a bit longer than the others ;D so be happy.**

Something was nagging at his brain. He couldn't tell what it was at first, but as his mind roused from unconsciousness, it became more acute. A pinching, and a numbing feeling were jogging his nerve endings. Brows knitting together, Dean murmured under his breath unintelligible sounds of protest. He didn't want to wake up. The dream he'd had was already disappearing, but it felt familiar and warm, better than the bleak reality trying to pry its way back into him.

He tried to move, and that's when he realized something was very, _very _wrong. The pinching grew worse, and localized in his wrists, where the rest of his arms felt numbed. They wouldn't move either, and Dean's eyes quickly pried open, bewildered green seeking out the reason. His wrists were bound by belts against the posts of his bed, making something heavy and painful lodge in his throat. His heart picked up it's sleepy beat.

"You're awake," a dark voice commented. Dean's head jerked down to see Castiel perched on the edge of the bed frame, feet casually planted on the mattress a few feet beneath Dean's own. There was an opened book in the vampire's lap, the brittle pages held carefully beneath deft fingers. That's when Dean realized another terrifying (and mortifying) fact. He was hard.

It wasn't anything to be embarrassed about…in any other circumstance. It was normal, even without a sex dream just before waking, but Castiel was staring at him intently, and even though the vampire was staring at his blushing face, Dean knew he was fully aware of (if not concentrating on) the straining tent below his waistline. The elephant between them, blaring in both of their faces.

"What did you do to me?" Dean snapped hoarsely. Castiel shrugged a little.

"You misbehaved, so I put you under."

"And tied me up?"

"I didn't want to get stabbed again," Castiel deadpanned. He moved then, slowly and with purpose, like a coiling snake readying to attack. Dean's fists balled, and his muscles reflexively pulled against the leather binding him as Cas set his book down and slid off the bed frame. He sunk onto his knees, and slowly crawled over his slave without touching him; Dean swallowed heavily, and his blush darkened, wary green eyes glaring into his master's face with all the mistrust he could muster. He felt like gravity was expanding between them, heavy and thick enough to nearly suffocate him.

They stared into one another's eyes, neither moving for what seemed like eons until Castiel's knees curled beneath him, and Dean tensed up in response. Gently, but deliberately, Castiel eased his weight onto Dean's abdomen, sitting atop the human just above his engorged member. The movement reminded Dean of a cat, sitting where it knew it shouldn't just to spite someone, and his abs flexed rigidly against the pressure. _This was humiliating! _His face was hot and his arms ached, and the look in those sky blue eyes was too much for Dean to take, but he refused to take his eyes off them.

Clenching his jaw, he glared up at Castiel stubbornly, urging his hard-on to disappear with all the willpower he had. The vampire could see his contempt, but for a long while, he didn't move. He merely studied the human's disconcerted face, marveling at how the pink in his cheeks made his freckles more defined; Dean's heart was near thundering beneath him, blood rushing hot everywhere. It made his own blue eyes darken with lust, his pupils expanding as his nostrils flared in want. The look made Dean's face falter slightly, eyes losing their leer for alarm and mouth going slack in defeat. He didn't want to think of what was coming next.

A heavy breath blew out Castiel's nose, before he leaned forward (causing Dean to cower into the bed – which Cas dutifully ignored), and undid the bindings around Dean's right wrist. He undid the left one in the same fashion, and leaned back calmly, when Dean suddenly lunged upward, hands flailing out wildly to strike the vampire any way they could. In a heartbeat, Castiel caught Dean's wrists with ease, fingers replacing the wear of leather, and with inhuman strength he pushed Dean back onto the bed. A low growl left Castiel, and a malicious grin spread across his plump pink lips with Dean pinned under him, wrists held above his head.

"Give me a reason," Cas snarled quietly, and in one fluid movement, his knees pushed up as his hips rolled back, before he grinded his pelvis into Dean's aching length. Though he tried, Dean couldn't fully contain the yelp that forced it's way out his throat, and his entire body seized, wrenching beneath the vampire while his muscles tensed and his head flew back in desperation. Disgust pooled and overflowed him, at his own helplessness, at this monster's cruel taunting, but most importantly, at how his body reacted to it all.

It was normal, to feel pleasure when pressure was applied to an erection; he had nothing to be ashamed about, but he didn't _want_ to feel the lick of arousal currently throbbing through his abdomen at the feel of a man above him. But not just any man, his monster of a master. It was mortifying. Yet there was something frighteningly enthralling about being held down and forced to submit, knowing he couldn't escape from whatever pleasure Cas decided to give him. So there it was, a dark lust growing treacherously within him, his body betraying his soul in the worst of ways. It was a twisted cycle, and he hated himself for it.

Castiel's lips parted, and a breathless gasp slipped between his yearning lips, and Dean froze as he leaned over, trying his damnedest not to move as his master's face almost nuzzled into the side of his cheek. He could feel their groins pressing together, hear the labored breathing from the vampire in his ear as cold blew over his neck, sending goose bumps down the length of his spine. Instinctively, Dean canted his head away from the looming feeling, and with beady eyes, watched from the corner of his vision as it only encouraged Castiel to hover his lips closer to his pulsing neckline.

"You smell _so_ good," Cas groaned, sounding far too much like he was having trouble controlling himself; it didn't help he could feel the other hardening against his pelvis. A bead of fear pulsed into Dean's system, and his own breath became shallow and quick, his hands balling into fists above his head. Dean was overwhelming him; to have it all within his grasp again, it was too much, and Cas couldn't stop his fangs from descending _painfully_, every fiber of his body craving to devour Dean in every sinful way he wanted, to the point where it was torturous. His fingers were shaking around Dean's wrists, and his grip tightened until he heard Dean grunt in pain.

Instantly, his hands let go of Dean, and he waited a moment to see what the other would do. But the human didn't do anything; he didn't move nor speak, and that was all it took to tame Castiel a little. His left hand planted itself onto the center of Dean's chest, and slowly, he pulled himself away, until he slid off of Dean completely, and stood next to the bed. His eyes were glued to a spot on the mattress for a long time as he composed himself, but he could feel Dean's cautious eyes staring at him. His gaze flickered to meet those forest-colored eyes, a stony look about his face as his fangs slowly retracted once more.

"You should bathe," Castiel finally spoke, his gravelly voice even raspier than usual. He saw Dean stiffen, hands reaching for anything nearby to cover himself, which happened to be the blankets beneath him. Castiel rolled his eyes. "Not with me," he snapped gruffly, before he marched forward and grabbed Dean by the back of his collar. He pulled the human to stumble off the bed, before hoisting him up and shoving him off to the bathroom. "Get washed up, and I'll have a clean pair of clothing waiting for you."

"I thought I smelled good," Dean snapped, aggravated, face burning hot and hands protectively curled around his angry erection. Castiel's lips almost quirked into a smile, because it was nice to have a semblance of normalcy from Dean, even if he was back to being defensively snarky.

"You do, but that's no excuse not to be sanitary," Castiel said, as he finally released Dean once they were standing in front of the tub. Dean stared down at the white porcelain, brows slightly furrowed and a hard line puckering his lips. Mildly surprised, Cas looked from Dean to the bathtub, and back to Dean before realization dawned on him. "You _do_ know how to use one of these, don't you?"

Frown deepening, Dean reluctantly shook his head. Castiel's mouth dropped in disbelief, and Dean stiffened defensively. "I'm an orphaned servant. We don't get luxuries from the old world. The river was my source of water, for drinking and _bathing_," he grumbled. The only benefit to this whole situation was his anger was finally forcing his hard-on to slowly dwindle. Castiel's brow twitched, eye retreating back to the bathtub as he marveled at the irony for a moment, because it was Dean whom had taught him how to use the washroom to begin with. With a quiet sigh, he leaned over and instructed Dean on how to use all of the knobs, and pointed out the soaps he had sitting at the edge. Once he was done, he left the room and quietly shut the door, letting Dean decide whether he wanted to shower or take a bath.

He wasn't surprised when he heard the spurting coming from the showerhead. Dean always loved to shower, and Cas knew he'd appreciate the water pressure his bathroom had. A rueful smile briefly passed over his lips, before he sighed, utterly defeated, and crawled back over to his bed. His fingers absently curled around one of the posts at the bottom of his bed, and he let his forehead drop to it while he closed his eyes.

What was he doing?! This wasn't at all how things were supposed to go, but he had been a monster for far too long now. It was hard to control himself when he had grown so used to taking what he wanted. He was the one monster that Dean shouldn't have to fear, yet every time he was around Dean, he acted like a rabid, dangerous animal. Groaning a little, he bobbed his head against the post a few times in frustration. This wasn't at all how things were supposed to go, and he _knew _it. He had been warned.

_Fifty Years Ago:_

_"Don't you turn your back on me, you sanctimonious bloodsucker!" a shrill voice hissed at him. It came from a tongue slyer than the Devil's, but Castiel was compelled to obey. With a clenching jaw, he stopped his fierce footsteps, and reluctantly brought his body to face the woman with scorn written all over her face. She had dark, hollow eyes, nearly as black as a demon's. Only the white of her scleras gave away that she was not. In a way, she was perhaps something much worse._

_"You cannot expect me to be that much of a fool," he growled. The devilish girl smiled wryly at him, shrinking her ghoulish face away coyly as those sinister eyes beheld him. She started to slowly cackle at him, and it made his undead skin crawl with disgust. _

_"Oh, but I _know_ that you are, Angel of Thursday. And I know what you seek," she purred at him, causing Castiel to narrow his eyes._

_"Speak plainly. I no longer have any patience."_

_"Did you ever?" She laughed at him again, strutting forward with slow, exaggerated kicks. "Relax. I'm only here to deliver a message."_

_"What message?"_

_"In fifty years, you will find that which you have lost…the one you've been longing for in damnation. He will come, and he will bring salvation for everyone, but only if you can protect him this time around," the witch recited quietly, watching with interest as Castiel's face immediately paled. Wide, unnerved blue eyes searched her grim face._

_"Wh-wha-?" He could see in her eyes how pleased she was with herself, making the ruler of the vampires stutter like a frightened schoolboy. She continued on, however, as if nothing was out of the ordinary in their entire situation._

_"You must teach him, train him, but most importantly, you must make sure he does not fall into darkness again," she whispered the words onto his lips. Castiel's eyes narrowed in response; she could see the skepticism in them as he leaned away from her._

_ "Why would a witch travel so far from her coven to tell me such nonsense? You are lucky I even let you in my doors, but this- this is insulting even for your despicable kind. You expect me to believe your bullshit, hag?" he spat. She smiled wryly at him, because she could see the fear so plainly written into the secrets of his eyes._

_"Not all of our magic comes from beneath us, Castiel. And you'd be wise to take heed of my warning. I'm afraid our fate depends on it." _

He had been unnerved for days after that, but after awhile, he had forgotten all about it. Witches were tricky and not to be trusted, but here Dean was, just as he had been told. It made him frown deeply, troubled through his very core. Stiffly, he moved away from his bed and walked into his closet. In the back, stuffed in a box and buried under many other items, was a treasure chest of sorts. He carefully pulled it out as he heard the shower turn off, the last droplets splattering onto the porcelain.

When he opened the box, he looked down onto the fabric lying within, a reverent finger running over the dark cotton. They were all Dean's old clothes; when he lost Dean, he had gone back and salvaged all he could, kept it locked away in his mansion for bitter, lonely, depressing nights. There were only a few more boxes, with pictures and trinkets, old movies Dean used to like, and his old weapons that now lied in a room on the third floor. With a sigh, Cas pulled out a plain black T-shirt, and a green button-up, along with an old, faded pair of jeans and black boxers.

He brought the items out of his closet, and laid them down on his bed just as Dean opened the door to the bathroom. Castiel had to suck in a sharp breath when he turned around to behold his human; Dean's sandy hair was dark and spiked up with water, droplets still covered his muscular form, twinkling with gleaning light as Dean stalked into the room. A scowl was set on his face, obvious discomfort tensing his muscles as he kept the towel firmly clutched around his waist with one hand.

Though Castiel's eyes roamed, he did take a step back to allow Dean to approach the bed. His head tilted in curiosity as Dean reached down with his free hand, and gently picked the T-shirt up, running his thumb over the soft material. His brows furrowed a little. "You want me to wear this?" he asked, turning his head to regard Castiel. The vampire nodded, and Dean looked back to the clothes. They were odd, better kept and simpler than most things Dean saw these days. They looked almost like Castiel's clothes, in a way. Humming slightly under his breath, he picked the clothes up, and shifted uncomfortably to face Castiel.

"Um…" he murmured, making Castiel's brows furrowed. Then, he realized, and cleared his throat a little before he turned around. He heard Dean shuffling, heard the towel scraping over his flesh, and he swallowed heavily as his eyes roamed the floor. "You asked me what I knew of demons yesterday…" Dean commented carefully as he pulled the black shirt over his head. "Why?"

Castiel shrugged a little, one of his hands coming up to rub the stress out of his neck. "They come through here from time to time, stay a few days, run amuck and wreak havoc. I wanted to see if you knew how to handle yourself," Cas explained quietly, but there was something distinctly off in his voice that made Dean's eyebrows furrow. He didn't comment though, as he pulled the pants on. Cas turned around then, and saw Dean fumbling with the zipper. It made him smile a little, and without warning, he stepped forward and gently brushed Dean's hands away, before zipping and buttoning his fly. His stark blue eyes flickered up to see Dean pouting, a soft blush on his cheeks.

"I could have done that myself," he grumbled, making Castiel's smile widen a little. Huffing, Dean maneuvered away from his master a little, and snatched the green shirt from off the bed to slip over his torso.

"What did you do under the Madelines' rule, Dean?"

"I hunted for game."

"Of course you did," Cas murmured, a smirk crossing his lips. "Well, you should eat something. We have a long night ahead of us."

"Are you going to tie me up again?" Dean joked snidely.

"No, Dean. You're going to show me your hunting skills."

* * *

"What weapons do you prefer for your hunting?" Castiel asked after Dean had finished breakfast.

"A bow and arrows, and a knife," he responded, pausing when he noticed the broad smile Cas was giving him. Scoffing a little, he grew irrationally defensive. "What?! They're quiet, quick, and clean." Cas' smirk went lopsided, and he nodded a little, though he didn't make a comment. After retrieving the weapons Dean had requested from one of his locked rooms on the third floor, Castiel led the way to their next destination.

The pair descended into a barren flight of stairs nestled in the furthest corner of Castiel's wing. Dean really was impressed that the man really didn't have to leave his own halls, if he didn't want to. It seemed lonely to him though, to have family so near, yet so far removed all at once. The corridor grew dark when they reached the bottom of the stairs, so dark that Dean couldn't see Castiel walking in front of him, until the man flipped a light switch to aide the human's eyes.

What Dean saw before him made his jaw drop. "Y-you have _cars?!"_ Castiel smirked at the man's bewildered question, and nodded as he stepped aside to allow Dean's marveled gaze to lead him forward. He stood still, watching as his awed slave shuffled into the underground garage. There were half a dozen vehicles lined neatly on either side of him in the spacious gray room, all fixed and recreated by Castiel himself.

"You like cars?" Castiel asked as Dean's eyes flickered reverently over each pristine body. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought he heard a strange note of hope in Castiel's voice – but he shrugged it off with an actual shrug.

"Well, yeah," Dean responded, as if it were obvious. "I mean…I don't have a lot of experience with them. Fairies are more old school than anything; no one has cars where I come from. The closest the Madelines come to the old world are the caravans they use…but I've seen some…I guess from you guys or demons coming into town, I dunno. And I have an old book about them." Thoughtfully, Cas nodded to Dean's words as he let his human run careful fingers over his rebuilt 1970 Buick GSX Stage 1. Then, Dean's eyes landed on what was in the corner, a vehicle covered in an old, worn tarp. He couldn't see anything of it, but curiosity got the best of him.

"What's this one?" Dean asked innocently, making his way over to take a peak. Just as his hand was reaching for the lapel, he felt cold fingers wrap around his wrist tightly, and jerk him around to face a steely gaze.

"It's nothing," Castiel rumbled, releasing Dean as he took a step back. Dean subconsciously rubbed his wrist as he frowned at Castiel. "If we make it through this trip without any hiccups, I'll let you see," the vampire added as a peace offering, which Dean begrudgingly accepted.

"Come," the master said, as he walked back toward the GSX, and Dean suddenly realized why they were down here.

"Wait…you mean we're actually going to take one of these _out?!" _ He couldn't contain the giddiness that started to burst forth as he nearly skipped to his master's side. Castiel chuckled, and nodded once more.

"Of course. Did you think we were going to hunt here, where there's little game and anyone can watch?" Cas said, and it was worth it to see those green eyes light up in excitement for the first time in ages. Higher technology was rare, and cars not a common thing in the new U.S. of A. Gas was precious, though attainable through certain means, and many of the old roads were cracked or destroyed, but the Angel's kept some modernization to their territory. Certain paths had been paved, and old, beaten roads restored, but still…it was a hazardous way these days, which was why-

Castiel took two deliberate steps away from his muscled beauty, and pat the door of an old, dirtied Jeep Wrangler. And he couldn't help the laugh when he watched Dean's glee deflate just a little.

* * *

"How long is this trip going to take?" the human suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had lingered until now, a bit of disappointment sugar-coating his words. They had been on the road for about an hour now, and the ride was not as comfortable as Dean had ever imagined. It was worse than riding a horse in a too fast-paced trot. On top of that, it was getting later and later, and he was growing colder by the minute, which told him they were headed north. Castiel shook his head, still smirking.

"Most of the night, which is why you'll need this as well," Castiel said, his right hand reaching into the back and rummaging for a moment. What his hand retrieved was a thick fold of leather that at closer inspection, Dean recognized as a jacket. Furrowing his brows, he almost frowned when Castiel placed it in his lap, the cautious glance the vampire quickly gave him going unnoticed, for his attention was captured solely by the old brown leather.

It was just a damn coat, but for some reason, his fingers curled around it with care, marveling at how well kept it was – it was obviously _very _old. He could feel the fraying that had thinned where it curved, how the once smooth leather had grown dull, and the color faded. It likely should have been thrown away a long time ago, but there was something about it that made him hold onto it a bit tighter. And then it happened again.

_October 2__nd__, 2009_

_Dean woke with that familiar feeling of someone watching him, and it jolted his brain on high alert with creepy tingly feelings all over. He jerked upright, only to see Castiel staring at him, just standing beside his bed, with his leather jacket in hand._

_"What the fuck, Cas?! How many God damn times do I have to tell you," he snapped, utterly irate. Castiel's brows furrowed slightly, as if he didn't understand…. Even though this was the gazillionth time by now._

_"Please do not use my father's name like that," the angel stated, causing Dean to roll his eyes exaggeratedly before rubbing the sleep from his face. "Dean, it's been four hours," the angel instructed, causing Dean to grunt._

_"Thanks for the fucking news flash," he grumbled, feeling worse than when he went to sleep four hours ago. Of course, it didn't help that his brother had called, breaking his sleep; their conversation hadn't helped anything either. Just remembering it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Sighing heavily, he looked up to Cas to see the angel holding his coat out to him. He snorted, and took it from his friend as he rose from his lonely bed._

_"What's wrong?" Cas suddenly asked, noting how Dean's shoulders were even tenser than usual, and he was far more snappish than normal._

_"You mean besides the fact that you're watching me in my sleep again? Nothing," the man growled as he rounded the bed to enter the bathroom to wash his face. Castiel frowned at his back._

_"It's Sam, isn't it?" Fuck. How the fuck did he always know?! It was like one look, and Castiel knew everything Dean had to hide. He knew Cas could read minds (though he wasn't sure if that were still the case), but something told him Cas didn't need to read his mind to know anymore. It was kind of infuriating. He stiffened in the bathroom for a moment, before ignoring it and washing his face with cold water. He heard Castiel sigh in the other room. "Dean-"_

_"We're not talking about this."_

_ "Dean."_

_"DAMN IT, CAS! We're NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS," Dean bellowed, glaring daggers at his friend, water drops still dripping down his face. Castiel's lips pursed slightly, his eyes squinting as if he were contemplating getting in an argument. There was something else in his eyes too, something Dean couldn't read, but it was gone just as quickly, and the angel let out a defeated huff. He looked away, and Dean felt satisfied enough to dry his face off._

_"Now," he muttered as he stepped out of the bathroom. "Are we going to go after the Colt, or what?" He fingered his jacket carefully, before swinging it onto his torso, and slipping his arms through the sleeves. Grabbing his bag in one hand, he snatched the keys off the dresser and stormed out of the room. _

With wide eyes, Dean stared at the jacket in his lap in awe, his thumb lightly tracing the collar. _'Was this….mine?' _ He desperately wanted to ask, but he already knew the answer. Pieces of a life he didn't know suddenly came back to him, making things more familiar and more alien all at once. He suddenly knew that this belonged to his father, whom remained a faceless figure with no name. He remembered said man leaving the jacket with him in the middle of lonely nights when he would go out, not to return for days. Days turned into weeks, and eventually, he stopped giving the jacket back. He wore it, and felt more at home in it than anything else, save for…

His brows knit together in frustration, a sharp headache taking over his muddled brain as he strained to remember. What was he even remembering?! He had a life, a poor, simple life. It was bland and without attachments, but it was his life. And he liked it. This was confusing, scary and hurtful, and he wished to all that was powerful in the world that he had never been sold to the vampires. It seemed being around this particular vampire was jogging things he never knew existed after he buried his first bizarre flashback several years ago.

Subconsciously, he brought his fingers up to rub at his chest, at the naked space where his necklace should lie. These memories, if that's what they really were, were fragmented. And they were all filled with terror, pain, and heartbreak that he remembered as potently as if it were happening this instance. Who was his father? Who was Sam? Had he been the one to give him that necklace? _'What the fuck are you doing even thinking about this? This is fucking insane!_'

A sharp breath left him, and he was more than aware of Castiel's shifting eyes, though the vampire said nothing. He was grateful for that, at least. Because talking to him right now would be more than uncomfortable, especially since the version of his master in these visions portrayed a very different picture than what he was stuck in now. Huffing, Dean shifted, feeling more self-conscious than he had being tied to Castiel's bed. Curling into himself, he pulled the jacket around his back, and pulled the lapels tight around his torso, before he let his head thunk into the window so he could stare into the darkness.

"Thanks," he mumbled. The rest of the trip passed in silence.

* * *

It was in the waking hours of dawn that they reached their destination. Dean had dozed once or twice, only to be rudely awakened by Castiel jabbing his ribs or opening his window. Now, he felt more tired than ever, but the moment they stepped out of the car into the frigid air, his senses awakened by tenfold. Blinking, he looked around to see the deep forest, and though it was no forest he knew, he felt at home in the woods. More at home than he did in a castle.

"Where are we?" Dean asked, tugging the jacket around himself tighter when he saw his own breath fog up before him.

"Far to the north in my territory, in one of the denser forests," Castiel told Dean as he pulled Dean's equipment out of the car. Approaching the taller man, he handed over the weapons, before he walked off to lead the way. Frowning a little, Dean looked down at the bow and dagger in his hands, certain that both had cost more than he had. The dark wood was smooth and polished, and felt perfectly balanced in his hand. The dagger was light and slender, and didn't shine when hit with sunlight. Sighing, he slipped the sheathed dagger into his pocket and followed after his master.

The forest was made up of enormous evergreen trees, making the foggy bluish light even darker under the splotchy canopy. The forest floor seemed barren, but brush was spotted around the trees, and old twigs and dead pine leaves littered the dirt. For the time being, the pair crunched over the surface without much fuss, though Castiel's footsteps remained eerily silent. When they were far gone from the car, buried deep into the woods, Castiel finally stopped, turned to face Dean, and handed over the quiver of arrows he had slung over his shoulder.

"Think you can manage from here?" Castiel asked as Dean dropped the quiver to rest against his shin. He glared at Cas stubbornly for a moment, before he placed the bow beside it, and silently slipped the jacket off. The cold stung his skin, making a quiet shiver wreck his bones, but he huffed as he handed the leather back to Castiel, whom accepted it wordlessly.

"How do I know you won't just ditch me here to die?" Castiel chuckled at him, and it made his cheeks sting with a blush, because he has somewhat indirectly admitted to needing Castiel to survive, and they both knew it. That didn't sit well in the hunter's stomach, and he refused to look at the bemused smile gracing the vampire's lips.

"Don't worry. I'll be nearby," Castiel assured, holding back a laugh when Dean grimaced. Then, he was gone, and Dean looked up to the emptiness around him, unease pooling in his gut. His eyes traveled around him, but the vampire was nowhere in sight, and even though his physical presence was not here, Dean did not feel alone. It made cold apprehension tickle up his spine, but he swallowed it down as he picked up his weapons. Ducking his head, he slung the quiver diagonally over his back, and held the bow firmly in one arm before he walked off.

The morning light was fading from hazy blue to pale grey, and Dean felt more at ease as he fell into the familiar rhythm of hunting. His footsteps grew silent, every movement of his limbs cautious and deliberate as he scanned the forest, taking in subtle clues of the wildlife around. A cleft of fur, fresh droppings, the small indent where a hoof had been were all taken in stride as he continued on. And Castiel watched from the tops of the trees, quietly moving through the branches as he trailed in the blind spot of the mortal world below.

Dean had changed into hunter mode, and though it was not a perfect duplication, it was reminiscent enough to cause a painful clench in the vampire's heart. The human was stepping carefully over the ground, quiet and skillful in his movement through the trees. And his heartbeat was steady and calm. _Good_. While it would not be enough for a monster to remain oblivious to his presence (for Castiel could still hear the barely audible crunch of his feet, and the slow throw of his heart), at least Dean had the basics down. And he knew to remain downwind, masking his scent from the prey he stalked in the distance. That, too, was good.

He watched a small spark lite in Dean's eyes as he paused, shielded behind a large pine and a bush that sat at it's side. The human's muscles drew tight, and one arm slowly moved to draw an arrow silently from the quiver. Deft fingers gently placed it against the bow, and his fingers twitched as he pulled the feathered end flush against the bow's string. Glancing up, Castiel saw the large elk that Dean had successfully stalked, remaining oblivious to it's peril as it munched on a bush in the distance. Returning his eyes to Dean, he became fixated by the beautiful man below him.

Dean's muscles were taut as he controlled the movements of his limbs, keeping them slow and silent as he drew his bow up. He saw Dean's throat clench with his concentration, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed heavily, keen eyes narrowing upon the large buck ahead of him. Even with the injury to his neck, Dean's movements were steady and unhindered. The bow was held out, and the arrow pulled flush against his cheek, and Castiel saw the same determination harden his eyes as he closed in on his prey. It made the vampire's mouth go dry, and throat pull tight as longing yanked at his gut. The sharp whizz cut through the forest in a frightening ripple, but the elk didn't even have enough time to flinch before the sharp steel pierced through it's jugular.

Asphyxiation was imminent by this point, but the animal flailed out in desperation and surged forward to run. Dean jumped forward, taking two steps to round the bush and give himself a better vantage point, before his hands moved as quick as lightening. A new arrow was placed against the bow, and a second fire shot straight into the animal's ankle. It fell to the ground upon the impact of its hoof, and Dean ran the rest of the way to it as it suffered against the ground.

The knife was unsheathed from his pocket as he approached it, the horrible whining of it's gurgling throat making his insides clench. "I'm sorry," he murmured to the animal, before he knelt over it, and cut one clean swipe across it's throat to silence it forever. Castiel marveled at the small gesture, watched the crease grow in Dean's forehead as blood pooled into the dirt. Dean showed remorse for killing the creature, an insignificant mammal, marking just how pure his soul had become. It made the vampire's brows furrow because he never thought it would be possible after what had happened.

_Most importantly, you must make sure he does not fall into darkness again._

Castiel swallowed heavily, before he finally leapt down from the treetops, landing behind Dean without a sound. "Two perfect shots and a clean kill…. I'm impressed," Castiel stated, and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. The vampire suppressed a smile as the human reeled around, a palpitation violently throbbing through Dean's heart as his bewildered eyes beheld Castiel.

"Fuck! A little warning next time!?" Dean shouted, irate. Castiel stared at him for a moment, before his gaze flickered to the creature lying behind Dean.

"Your skills are reputable, Dean, but there is much I have to teach you, and I cannot say how long I have."

"What?"

"That creature there, it is your prey; a source of food for you. To me, you are the same," Castiel stated, his eyes flicking up to Dean pointedly. The human swallowed under the fierce gaze. "Most of the supernatural use humans as a food source; some, toys of pleasure or amusement. I'm going to teach you how to defeat them all as easily as you took this buck down."

"….Why would you do that?"

"Because I won't always be around to protect you, Dean. My family could strike you at any moment, or another monster could swoop through and pluck you from my bed. Many are clever enough to try, though I assure you none would succeed. My point is, you need to learn to defend yourself," Castiel explained calmly. It was a half truth, but he had no intention of telling Dean the real reason any time soon.

"But humans aren't supposed to-" Castiel held a hand up, silencing Dean's engrained protest.

"And your first lesson," the vampire murmured, his gleaming eyes searching Dean's eyes deeply. "You need to stop thinking of yourself as prey. Do not be the buck. Just as you are the predator for this cervus, you must become the predator of the monsters that prey on your kind."

"Even of you?" Dean asked challengingly, but Castiel merely stared. Dean had to swallow heavily at the scrutinizing gaze, and a stuttered breath left him when the vampire finally let his eyes drop as he passed by Dean. Cas walked forward, and gripped the elk by one of its horns, before he dragged it off with little care. Dean took a moment to compose himself, before he slowly followed after. He didn't quite know what to make of Castiel's words, and on top of everything else happening to him lately, no one could blame him for no longer knowing which way was up. So he remained quiet as Castiel led them to a hollow of a shallow rocky hill.

A fire was prepared soon after, and Castiel helped Dean skin the carcass and disembowel it. The meat was chopped and carved into various portions, a few of which Dean took to cook over the fire for his "dinner". While the meat cooked, Dean collected what he could find around their vicinity; spiced leaves from the bushes, pinecones that he crushed up into seasoning, sap that he stole from a grand tree. They were added to a broth made in a pot Castiel had brought, with water from a river that Cas had collected; once it boiled, Dean added the elk meat. Concentrating on this simple task helped him block out the rest of his fucked up life, but Castiel's eyes forever burned at the back of his skull, a constant reminder that his life was no longer his own.

By the time he started eating, the sun was well into its morning hours, bright golden streams peaking through the thick pines above them. Occasionally, Castiel would squint against the brightness, but he remained safe in the shallow cave as Dean ate in silence at its edge. The fire had died to crackling embers, and not a drop left in the pot Dean ate from. When he finished, his belly felt satisfied, but the rest of his soul withered. He placed the pot down at the edge of the cave, and curled his arms around his bent knees.

"We'll sleep here today," Castiel spoke softly behind him. "But first… it is my turn to feed." The words were just as soft, but they were pointed and challenging. Dean sucked in a shaky breath, and closed his eyes to pull forward a memory that reminded him of the good he once had, that filled him with joy as he felt the dark presence loom in behind him. A shiver ran up his spine, goose bumps rising violently over his back as he felt Castiel's fingers gently graze over his shoulders and the back of his neck. He held onto the friends he used to have, and the joyous rides he used to take on his horse as those fingers slid their way up into his hair. How freedom used to taste as his head was pulled back and his master's body grew flush against his own.

Fangs sunk into his neck, and impulsively Dean let out a small whine, but this time the bite was gentler than he ever experienced. The piercing of his flesh barely stung, and the slow pull of his blood into the other's mouth was almost… _pleasurable_, lolling his eyes into the back of his head as he stuffed down a groan at the weird sensation. Castiel's fingers massaged into his skull, as the others soothingly caressed the bare parts of his forearm; it was distracting and he wished it didn't feel as good as it did. It was easier to hate his master when he acted like a monster, but this was nothing like before, and strangely intimate enough to cause heat to blush onto his cheeks.

Enamel pulled out of him, only to be replaced by soft lips that wrapped around the new wound in the fresh side of his neck, suckling at the last of the pooling blood. A ragged breath left Dean, when finally, those lips pulled away, only to place a chaste kiss to the raw flesh. The kiss lingered, which made Dean feel all kinds of weird, as if the vampire _actually _cared, and the odd sensation that it sent through his chest made Dean wince. It was fucked up, but for a second, he actually wished it were true, before he gained ahold of his senses and mentally damned himself for his stupidity.

When Castiel pulled back, Dean felt hollow once more, the wound festering in his soul far worse than the ache left in his neck.

**AN: Soooo, what did you guys think?! Your reviews give me courage and inspiration to move on, so please let me know, whether it's good or bad! The feedback is very helpful. In the next chapter, things will start to pick up a lot, and it's also going to start to get a lot more twisted. I hope you're all excited as I am :D Until next time! xoxo**


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